


Fire and Steel

by breejah



Series: A Court of Wishes and Dreams (ACOTAR Fanfic Series) [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Gruesome Death, Hurt/Comfort, Masturbation, Mating Bond, Military Training, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-08-03 08:12:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 31
Words: 155,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16322510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breejah/pseuds/breejah
Summary: Forced out of her self-destructive lifestyle under order of the High Lady of the Night Court -- who happens to be her sister -- Nesta Archeron is transported from the seemingly docile city of Velaris and thrust into the tough life of an Illyrian war camp with the one man who threatens to unravel her and force her to confront her feelings: Cassian, the General of the Night Court. With him, she learns to heal, just in time to thwart a civil war on the rise.Nessian fic involving PTSD, hurt/comfort, non-con elements from their past, and  emotional healing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Typical disclaimer:** I own nothing but the OCs. This is just a lowly fanfic writer mucking around in SJM's IP and trying to have fun in the process. This is the second entry in an "AU"-styled fanfic series, [A Court of Wishes and Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1162292). Enjoy!

_"In all these years, you never believed I loved you. And I did. I did so much. I did love you. I even loved your hate and your hardness." - Tennessee Williams, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof_

* * *

 

 

“You’re cold.” Said bluntly and to the point - always his style.

Slanting her eyes his way after giving the perimeter of the Illyrian war camp a casual sweep, Nesta gave no outward indication at the trueness of his comment but followed him as he moved. It was snowing and  the cold temperatures had begun crusting the wet layers of her hat and coat, causing her to shiver, but she said nothing.

Everything about the Illyrian mountains was different than where she’d just been hours before in the heart of Velaris, even if that heart had been the closest thing she could find to a slum. Her sisters and the Inner Circle couldn’t understand her desire to live there and the way she figured it - if they couldn’t muster the energy to understand her, then why waste the effort trying to explain herself? The simple matter of it was - the slum was _home_ . She hadn’t been all that old when her mother died and her father had gambled away their fortune and had lived in such places most of her life, despite her venomous anger at her fate. It hadn’t been _fair_ \- to be given a taste of what true luxury had felt like, only for it to be ripped away in a moment’s notice. Better to have never felt it at all, but life was cruel, she’d learned that early on. She’d also learned how to protect herself, with words if not actions, and despite the loneliness, it was the only comfort so far in her life that hadn’t been taken away. It was the one thing she could trust - that loneliness, that aching spot of neglect, and she’d begun to cherish it far more than any riches that could be heaped on her now.

And yet - they always asked her the same questions. _Why do you live like that, Nesta? Why do you do this to yourself?_ She snorted faintly, shaking her head, both amused and annoyed they hadn’t figured it out.

Since her sister’s fate at becoming the High Lady of the Night Court and all that it entailed, she had felt stifled under layers and layers of sheer elegance. She enjoyed the honesty in those willing to live with her in the filth. It stripped away all the superfluous layers and revealed what was underneath -  the heart of the person you called ‘neighbor.’ At least in those places she felt open, honest, as much as she’d ever learned to be in her life. As for trust - well, that was a subject best left untouched in her opinion.

Still, the more she stared, the more she appreciated the simplicity of this archaic village carved out of wood and stone, on the side of a blustering snow-laden mountain. Everything about the place and the people within it screamed of the mastery of oneself over desolate, unforgiving wilderness. She existed on those terms, though on a much simpler scale, so like it or not - the brisk cold burn of air curling inside her lungs and the hard stares of the few Illyrians out gave her a measure of solace in this unfamiliar place.

He stated those words again - this time lilting his voice slightly at the end, more of an inquiry than before but still not a question - as they walked up the slope, towards the cabin in the distance. She shivered in response, annoyed he could still read her so easily after all these months, despite doing everything in her power to shove him away - further than anyone else - and burrowed deeper in the warmth of her coat and said nothing. He always made her uneasy with how well he could read her and she didn’t like it. She wanted - _needed -_ that cold aloofness from him and there were times he simply wouldn’t budge, standing firm, reading her as easily as a sheet of paper in one of the novels she loved to lose herself in. He was like the wood and stone of this place -  immovable, impenetrable, absolute, and it terrified her. So she did as she always had when he got too close - she ignored him, both relieved and grieved when his stare turned dark and cold as he turned away, grunting for her to follow him up the wooden steps to the cabin beyond. She did as he asked, asking herself the simplest question on her mind as she  mimicked his actions, kicking her boots against the wall beside the front door before stepping inside: _Why do you care how he feels about you?_

And as always, she was too much of a coward to answer that question truthfully, even in her own mind, brushing it away like everything else, returning to that familiar ocean of detachment inside her.

“You want a fire?” He commented, but she was too distracted in her own mind this time to even properly hear and ignore the question - not that he’d realized. Staring about the cabin curiously before she’d realized what he said, she blinked as his gaze shifted darkly towards her, his lips a thin line of displeasure - taking her silence as another rebuttal - and she shrugged a shoulder to give some indication that she had heard him. She’d grown too accustomed to the cold, aloof discussions she had with friends and family to give into annoying chatter now. It was like a warm comfortable scarf, tugged tight around her windpipe, not allowing her to say or do anything but merely stare back.

A sigh and a soft curse later, she instantly regretted choosing to not say anything, then firmly bit down on the instinctual guilt that came with it. She was outwardly cold, yes - but nothing like she felt on the inside at times. Before the war, she felt nothing but endless rage for what had become of her life. After the war - glaciers moved at a faster pace than her heart did. She felt frozen in time, frighteningly brittle and thick at the same time, the only emotion she’d ever felt welling deep inside her now to the point of consumption being of one color and one color only -   _hatred_.

At herself, at her life, at everyone and everything, too frightened to show how little she truly knew herself anymore and how deep that emotion ran to let anyone too close. It was easier to see them hate her - perversely satisfied and yet destroyed each time those around her gave up on her a little more.

_One day,_ she thought, _you’ll hate me as much as I hate myself. Then you will understand._

Her eyes moved towards the kitchen, forcing the smile that otherwise would have pulled at her lips - a mere instinctive reaction, really - seeing how simple the kitchen was. “Do you cook meals or hire them done?” She found herself asking before she could stop the comment.

Cassian paused, staring at her oddly, her bags still in his hands. His eyes swept past her, into the kitchen, and unless she was mistaken - saw a hint of embarrassment dust the golden skin of his cheekbones. He shrugged. “Bit of both,” he replied, turning away, walking down a hall to the right. “This way.”

She followed, saying nothing, showing nothing, until he led her into a opened doorway at the end of the hall, on the right. Stepping inside, her eyebrows rose in a brief flicker of surprise as she noted the room she was to stay in. It was much nicer than anything she’d been used to in a very long time.

“Certainly better than that hovel you call a home back in Velaris,” quipped Cassian - right on time, as always - slamming down that brief flicker of surprise on her face the instant it appeared. He’d been staring, frowning when he saw her face smooth back into that smooth porcelain mask she used as a weapon, then glanced at him with disdain as he sat her bags on the bed.

“Mine’s across the hall,” he commented, frowning at her immobile hostile expression, “Dinner’s at eight. Got a few hours to yourself, but stay in the house.”

Nesta stiffened at the steely tone in his voice, unaccustomed to orders. Ready to open her mouth and retort that she was not one of his soldiers, Cassian shouldered forward, gripping her chin and shocking her as he growled at the outrage on her face. “I mean it, Ice Princess. No leaving the cabin under any circumstances. Things’re different here in the Illyrian mountains - the men more rough, accustomed to getting their way. You might have a fantastic poker face, but these men’ll hurt you. No bars, no drinking, no leaving the house at all hours of the night. When you’re in my home, you’ll follow _my rules._ ”

Nesta jerked back, her chest aching with an unfamiliar sensation - anger. “ _Excuse me?_ ” She hissed, infuriated at his tone. He stared her down, his expression one of utter finality, and she tried to turn and leave - _I won’t listen to this! This is_ **_my life_ ** _, General,_ **_not yours!_ ** _-_ but he had already anticipated that, moving to block her way from the room.

“Let’s make one thing _perfectly clear_ ,” Cassian growled, dark eyes flashing, as he blocked her way out the door. “There won’t be any going _anywhere_ . These men do not treat women the way you’re used to...even the shadiest fucker in Velaris won’t hold a candle to the things these men would do to you. You need a man? Need to scratch that itch? You use _me_.”

Nesta stared, cold fury in her eyes, her upper lip curling back in defense, bristling at what he suggested. “Is that why you brought me here, General? So you could be my fuck therapist?”

Cassian’s expression was nothing short of murderous. “ _I mean it._ ” He ignored her sneered comment, his eyes narrowing as he stepped forward. Nesta bristled, stiffening, that fire that she was so well known for sparking in the back of her eyes. She knew he saw it in the way he tensed, his hands flexing. “They’ll tear you to shreds. You act tough, walk tough, certainly look tough...but we all know how soft that body is. It wouldn’t handle what they’d want out of you.”

Nesta almost shouldered past him, almost attempted to move towards that front door, just to defy him - to see the cold fury in his eyes darken to shame - but she didn’t. She knew as well as anyone that if he didn’t want her to leave, she couldn’t. She had refused his attempts to teach her how to fight and staring at him, seeing the dead serious look in his eye, she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle him at his worst, which she certainly seemed to bring out.

“Fine,” she spat, turning, but catching his next words, feeling something akin to rage burst through that icy exterior for the first time since the war.

“ _‘Fine’_ you admit you’re over your head or _‘Fine’_ you admit you’ll use me to scratch that itch of yours?” As she turned, catching his eye with her wrathful one, and he stepped forward, boldly meeting her glacial stare.

“I know why you do it, you know. You do it to feel something. You think I don’t know that look? Why I’ve bedded so many over the years? You think I don’t know what it’s like to fuck someone so something seems right, even if it’s not what you really need? I know all about that, Nesta.” He was mere inches away now, glaring down at her just as fiercely as she did him. “You do it to feel something because you’re numb as hell from what you saw. Fucking makes you feel alive, even if the rest of the time you feel dead inside most of the time. Why didn’t you just ask me if that’s what you needed back home? I’d have been happy to oblige.”

_I couldn’t with you,_ her thoughts choked back, unable to voice them, as she stared. _Not with you. It had to be anyone but you._ It took her several moments to finally step back, turning slightly. She saw his frame vibrate with the urge to keep fighting, to pull that riotous response out of her, to make her feel _something_.

Still, something in his gaze caused that brittle thickness around her to crack. She swallowed, staring at him, realizing for the first time in months she was furious. Furious in how he goaded her, furious that he suggested such a thing and the burning ache of discomfort in caused in her chest and worse - that it had her stomach tightening in a sluice of molten arousal.

“Get out,” she whispered, turning her eyes away from him, unblinking as she looked out the window. She heard his hesitation, his shift of armor as he stood in her room, but she refused to say anything back - finally closing her eyes when the door to her room slammed shut, giving away her inner turmoil as a traitorous tear slipped past her lashes.


	2. Chapter 2

As he stalked down the hall, replaying her caustic words over and over inside his head, he was livid enough he felt like punching a hole in the wall. The look of utter contempt on her face when he suggested she take him as a lover hurt, more deeply than he wanted to admit. What was so repulsive about him that she’d take some anonymous male over him? Hadn’t she nearly died with him? Hadn’t she worried about his wounds?

Her utter change since the war was shock driven, he felt it deep in his bones. She was comfortable in her numbness and sometimes he wished she’d just hate him rather than waste away in that sea of nothingness she sheltered under like a lifeline. It was better than what he saw happening to her now - slowly starving her body and soul under drink and heaps of meaningless sex.

He closed his eyes, drawing in a sharp breath, refusing to linger on the reason it bothered him so bad. His fists clenched under the urge to do damage to the nearest inanimate object, large wings rustling against his back in anticipation, but he stopped himself, muttering a string of curses instead at the female down the hall as he moved back into the main living area.

He was angry he’d said the words - but he was more angry at how much he meant them. The idea of having Nesta underneath him - moaning _his_ name, calling for _his_ body and not some random bar find - had him aching in more ways than one. Sure, she was beautiful. The mere idea of her had him harder than stone. Nevermind that the only thing that seemed to get him off these days was picturing her inside his head, but this was something else - something _deeper_ than that.

Something inside him stirred deeply for her that he long thought just a fairy tale. It went beyond sex, beyond mere infatuation. He’d witnessed it with his best friend, Rhysand and Feyre, and wanted that - wanted it more than anything else in his whole miserable existence, and the only woman his subconscious stubbornly imagined that with was _her._ It both frightened and fascinated him but he was curious by nature and the farthest thing from a coward - so he wanted to know what it could be like between them.

He was terrified to admit it to anyone, but inside he knew. He knew if she let him, he could love her - deeply. Briefly, he wondered if it was the elusive mating bond everyone talked about then balked at the thought.

 _Gods almighty, I hope not. I’ve seen one too many Luciens in my life as it is,_ he thought morosely, almost wincing as he thought of the male back in Velaris. The poor sap couldn’t get within five yards of his mate without her turning tail and running. Still, he wondered, his mind’s eye wandering over the idea of Nesta being his mate. It unnerved him how much the thought pleased him. He’d always had a thing for tough women who could beat his ass in more ways than one and if Nesta ever learned to fight and re-master her magic - Gods, she’d be magnificent. Thinking of that, he almost swallowed his tongue, desire coursing through his veins so strong he almost stumbled over his own feet at the idea. Briefly, he reminded himself to ask her if she wanted to train with the other Illyrian females at dinner.

Reigning those thoughts in, he tensed as he felt the air change and turned sharply in the direction of the odd shift, relaxing when he realized who had shown up in the shadows gathered in the kitchen. “Az.”

Azriel stepped forward, the edges of his lips curling upwards into some semblance of a smile as he stepped out of the shadows, acknowledging his greeting. The action didn’t quite pass as a smile but it was the closest thing he was capable of most days. Rubbing a hand across his face, Cassian shot his friend a scowl, noting the way Azriel stared at him then trailed his eyes towards the hall.

“Yeah, she’s here. Prickly as ever,” he harshly commented, glaring at Azriel as the Spymaster’s eyes shifted towards him again, expression unreadable to anyone else but Cassian knew him better than most, able to sense the male’s curiosity. “She’s staying in her rooms until dinner. Pissed her off good, so I don’t expect her to move much. Prolly won’t notice you’re even here.”

“You sure you want to tour the other camps today?” His friend commented, tone soft, but the edge in his voice lethal. “They’re restless after the Solstice. It could be dangerous.”

“And?” Cassian commented, narrowing his eyes. After fighting with Nesta, a good brawl seemed downright divine. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he grunted, moving towards the door. “I’m sure. Relax, I won’t go out seeking trouble, but if it seeks me...well, it better watch itself. I’m not in the mood for more bullshit.”

Azriel said nothing as he shoved open the front door, stepping out onto the sloped walkway. Checking his armor, his weapons, he cast Azriel one last look before he looked up and took to the skies.

* * *

Nesta looked up as she unpacked her meager belongings just as a brush of harsh wind rattled the side of the house. She frowned as her eyes caught sight of Cassian when she looked quickly out the window for the source of the disturbance - a large black blur against endless blue - then dropped her eyes once more to the book in her hand that she'd been debating on starting to pass the time until dinner.

She remembered him mentioning duties to attend to but didn’t remember where, her thoughts briefly wandering back to their terse conversation, finding herself hoping that he wasn’t heading into something important with his wits rattled. Almost immediately, she banished the idea, reaching for that smooth porcelain mask as before.

Setting the book aside, she looked out across the expanse of the camp, noting curiously that a few female Illyrians had gathered in a ring nearby under the instruction of a male, following through with various training exercises.

Watching them, she frowned, then did the unimaginable - she set the book aside, reached for her coat, then headed for the door.

* * *

 

The cabin was deserted and she narrowed her eyes as she looked around, noting nothing out of place, despite something seeming off. She looked again towards that group of women in the distance, working through some kind of exercise, then marched towards the door.

“You’re not supposed to leave the cabin.”

Her hand froze mid-reach. Turning her head, she narrowed her eyes as Azriel appeared out of the shadows, by the kitchen. “Did he send you to babysit the poor lush for the afternoon or did Rhysand?”

Azriel said nothing, merely watching her. She jutted her chin towards the window. “There are women training outside.” Azriel’s gaze moved to the window, then back towards her. “I’d like to watch, if you don’t mind. Come with me if you’re worried I’ll climb on the trainer’s lap and try and seduce a quick fuck out of the man.”

Without another word, she reached for the door, surprised when he allowed her to open it. She was even more surprised that he turned up alongside her and followed her to the edge of the ring, staring at the women as they trained.

Azriel said nothing as she watched, curious. She noted that the women moved sharply but clumsily. The instructor bore little patience for their mistakes, but every now and then his eyes would flicker towards the Spymaster and his jaw would flex. Nesta soon realized that he was holding back with Azriel at her side. She turned towards him after one such incident, addressing him directly.

“Why does he keep looking at you?”

“Because his punishments on them would be more severe if I wasn’t here. He doesn’t want my presence here because it reminds him that we’re forcing them to train females for war.” Azriel commented, keeping his tone soft.

Her eyebrows rose in curiosity, despite that numbness she still felt stifled around her heart. “Why wouldn’t you? Illyrians are strong, even your women. Why sacrifice half your potential army?”

Azriel’s eyes turned towards hers, a brief flicker of surprise shimmering in their dark depths. “That’s the question we’ve been trying to get through to them for years,” he murmured, his gaze sliding back towards the instructor and the women in question.

Nesta’s gaze traveled with his own. She noticed too that there were far fewer women here than the village likely held in its population. Cassian’s earlier comment came back to her - about Illyrian males being harsher than she was used to. Still, the realization surprised her. She made sure that her expression remained smooth, but began to step forward, towards the ring.

She felt Azriel’s grip at her elbow before she saw his movement. “What are you doing?” He murmured, looking at her with a face very similar to her own.

“I’m joining them, what does it look like?” She replied, tugging her arm out of his grip. He pulled back, saying nothing, watching her approach the others. The women watched her warily, the Illyrian male simply sneering over her High Fae appearance.

“Whadda want?” He spat. Nesta stood to her full height then, not liking his tone, her eyes narrowing.

“I’d like to join them,” she replied, motioning to the other females in the group. “You certainly seem to have the room for more. Though, with your bedside manner, can’t imagine _why_ there aren’t more out here.”

The Illyrian male growled, stepping up close to her, invading her personal space. She stared straight  back, meeting his dark brown gaze with her blue one. Blue fire clashed with brown steel for several seconds until the male finally smirked, nodding faintly, thrusting a wooden pommel into her hand before stepping back.

“Won’t be easy on you,” he muttered. “Think you got what it takes? I might break that pretty face of yours before the end of the night. Name’s Devlon. Yours?”

“Not important,” she commented about her name, seeing red at his comment of breaking her. “I’d like to see you _try_ ,” she hissed, her eyes flashing. “I don’t expect easy, but I do expect the same training you’d give anyone else in this camp. For me and them.” She motioned to the other Illyrian women at her side. She couldn’t say why she said that - what did she care about a bunch of nameless women she’d probably never know? She focused on the most reasonable excuse for why she volunteered for this - if she wasn’t able to drink or fuck her problems away, fighting was the next best option available to her.

The Illyrian male grinned then, seemingly pleased that she’d all but agreed to allow him to kick the shit out of her. “Your funeral,” he commented, then went through the motions of showing them all a few basic moves and how to deflect them. Nesta followed along until the group was called to split into teams of two to test what they’d learned for the day in a series of sparring sessions - shocked when the Illyrian’s voice rang out over the crowd.

“Fairy Princess, you’re with me.”

She turned, heading towards him, then he whistled, signaling the start of the first round. She readied her position, but he was too fast - a mere blur - throwing his arms out, the wooden edge of his bokken slamming into her stomach, a whimper bursting past her lips before she could stop it. He grinned, pleased, then moved again, but this time she was able to deflect quickly enough to stop it striking home. His brown eyes blazed and he switched tactics - one she was unprepared for, the bokken striking across her shoulder. Her entire body slammed down with the hit.

Rising to her feet, she glared at him as he backed away, bokken in hand. Her body screamed at her in pain but damned if she was going to let some pig-headed Illyrian with an inflated ego see her acknowledge it. Strangely, she noted his jaw tense as his eyes narrowed at her lack of response while she climbed to her feet and dusted herself off.

“That...last move…” She panted, fully aware that Azriel had tensed by the side of the ring, motioning with one hand for him not to interfere, “...was not part of the training.”

Devlon shrugged. “Gotta learn to think on your feet, Fairy Princess. Why? Quitting so soon?”

Her eyes narrowed as her gaze went electric. She felt the silence in the ring as the others stopped what they were doing to stare. “No,” she panted, stalking forward. “I want you to show me what you did so I can do it, too. I asked for _equal_ training, remember? Would you do that to one of your men? Send them into a training unprepared? Or war?”

Devlon’s lids flickered again in surprise. Her lips thinned, biting back a smile, knowing she’d caught him in the act. The sudden contempt in his eyes had her vision blurring, anger once more bubbling up inside her, thawing that numbness in her chest. Still, she met his gaze with her own unflinchingly, watching as he seemed to evaluate her in a new light. He said nothing, merely stared, then finally nodded, stepping forward.

“Fine. No new moves for today.” He looked to the others, annoyed they had stopped to watch the showdown. “Stop looking at me and step towards your partners! Did I say the exercise was over? _Again!_ ”

The others quickly followed suit and she let the slow smirk forming on her lips show. He glared, his teeth flashing, then moved on her again - this time much harder and faster than the last. She would pay for calling out his shady ploy, but damned if it would be worth it.


	3. Chapter 3

“You did well.”

Closing the door behind her, Nesta said nothing, taking the time to slowly unwind her scarf and unbutton her coat, setting the wet garments on their proper pegs by the door. Tugging off her boots, she finally glanced in the direction the soft words had been spoken from, spying Azriel in the shadowed edges across the main living space, always half-obscured by those writhing blankets of blackness that caressed his neck and wrists like a lover. He hadn’t seen all of her training - having long since moved away from loitering about the training ring to the cabin from her continuous icy glares each time Devlon pummeled her to her knees -  shrugging a shoulder dismissively at his praise. The Inner Circle never praised her, ever. Not _Nesta Archeron_ , the unwanted one, the burden, the cast off, the lush whore who barely earned the title of sister to the High Lady. “I would have been better, had I taken up your or his offer of training all those months ago. That was what you _meant_ to say, wasn’t it?”

She couldn’t resist adding the hidden barb in her words, despite not wanting to. Someone had to feel the pain she did on a daily basis - the one steady thing in her life that she did her best to bury under layers of ice and stone - and Azriel was the easiest target, her sisters too far away, in their house of gold and stone that swelled against the Sidra River’s edge - a supposed testament to the steadfast strength of Velaris to overcome the worst upheavals cast its way since the war with Hybern had ended. Every time she thought of her sisters in there, in that palace of wealth that she didn’t belong in, knowing they were happy and complicit in their lives in a way she never would be, made her want to vomit.

Azriel didn’t reply, making her pause once more as she took him in again - smooth expression, intelligent glittering eyes, seemingly limitless patience, and she once again regretted she didn’t know more about him - not any more than what she’d already heard through gossip or whispers. Still, she watched him take in those words and offer not even the faintest flicker of remorse or sting at her tone and the implications of her retort and suddenly found herself exhausted at the pretense of it all. So what if he hated her, too? Did it really matter in the end, if he saw her mask slip?

Suddenly, without realizing it, she realized she was missing a vital part of herself since her excursion outside - that icy exterior that Amren had taught her to build, though she suspected not in this fashion. She shuddered, trembling, terrified at the sudden warmth she felt at the center of her chest, almost lucid emotionally for the first time in months, and felt that subtle shift underneath her skin. She tensed, feeling something _flicker_ inside her, flooding her insides with fear at what _that_ meant. She knew that sensation and quickly heaped on the frostiest countenance she could muster, moving away from him towards the hall, reminding herself it wasn’t for _them_ that she held onto that mask, but for what was hidden inside her.

She swallowed, keeping her face schooled, as she distracted herself by staring at the calm, shadowy demeanor of the Spymaster standing across the living area as she moved, his stoic expression watching her from where he sat perched by the back door, sharpening a series of blades with a wet black stone in his palm. Only his eyes flickered towards her, acknowledging her reply. “Your words, not mine. Are you going to tell him?”

She paused, catching his question, choosing to simply stand there, staring at him, relaxing when the ice inside her chest returned while she inwardly counted towards one hundred, adding brick after brick after brick, feeling the warmth slowly freeze over with each layer. She hadn’t realized when she stepped outside, allowed that Illyrian trainer to pommel her into the only submission she was comfortable giving - at the blunt end of a wooden bokken training sword - that it had distracted her and crumbled that wall she kept around herself. _Be more wary,_ she scolded herself, shrugging a shoulder at Azriel’s question, her body screaming in more than one place at the promise of bruises under her skin. “Not now. _I’ll_ be the one to tell him, so do us both a favor and remain your charming mute self if he asks what I’ve been doing all afternoon.”

He said nothing but she sensed his agreement, forcing the limp out of her gait as she moved down the hall towards the single bathroom separating the two living spaces across a few feet of glossy wooden flooring, grabbing a towel from the cupboard as she closed the door and shucked off her clothes.

Turning, she stared at the floor length mirror attached to the back of the closed door and stared at herself with detached clinical interest. She was underweight, dangerously thin in some areas, and the marks from Devlon’s bokken were already showing in many areas - across her back, her stomach, her ribs and thighs and shins - mostly angry red whelps but in some areas, already a mottled blue or purple. Thinning her lips in distaste, she reached up, slowly unbinding her hair from it’s traditional braided crown, her eyes darting up to stare into her haunted expressionless face.

As her fingers worked on the braids, she stared at her body and her face and fought the urge to scream. She looked the most like her mother of all the Archeron sisters, old enough to mostly remember her face and how she used to sing to her at the bedside vanity, slowly working her golden brown hair into the braided crown that she still wore, all these years later. Briefly, as she tugged loose a small twig snarled in part of her locks, she reflected both the sing-song breathy voice of her mother along with the harsh laughter of the Illyrian trainer who’d laughed at her loose updo.

 _Idiot girl,_ he’d snarled. _If you’re going to train properly, secure this shit in something other than some fancy princess braid. If I can grab hold of it, so can your enemy. You’re making it too easy for them, you daft, dim-witted Fae._ Afterwards, to drive home his words, he’d grabbed a fistful and yanked - _hard._

Staring at herself in the mirror, angry at both his words and the memories that assaulted her, she reached for the easiest thing to drive them away - a pair of shears. Staring at herself, stifling a sob and schooling her face into a hard mask, she grabbed a fistful of her hair and _snipped._

 _You have such lovely hair, my darling,_ her mother’s voice sang to her as she cut, staring at her expression as it remained as cold and as hard as those bricks she mounted precariously around her heart, shuddering as that voice faded as she cut again and again - until nothing remained but a small thin layer of golden brown curls framing her face. _Such lovely hair, for a lovely girl, who will one day make such a lovely bride and make her mother and father so proud of her…_

“Sorry to disappoint, mother,” she whispered at the mirror, then turned to the bath, seeking only the coldest water she could summon from the pipes, to soothe the bruises forming under her skin. “I’m afraid I wasn’t what any of you hoped for in the end.”

Bracing herself, sinking into that cold tub - closing her eyes against the scalding memories of _that thing_ that roared past her subconscious, threatening to send her spiraling into a shrieking mass of hysteria, she grit her teeth and sank back, forcing the water to rise slowly over her form, until she laid submerged up to her collarbones, shivering and fighting back nausea. It infuriated her that still - months later - she hadn’t had the courage to sink her head below the water, still bombarded with memories of her time in the cauldron and being cast into that warped place of _other_ that had tried - and somewhat failed - to force her into what she was today. When she’d fought back, taking part of it with her as she was ripped out of its waters by Hydern’s soldiers, she feared the day she would have to show what she took, still too afraid to even look fully herself at what lay hidden within, shielded by bricks and plaster that Amren had taught her to make.

“It’s just a tub, nothing more. A tub, nothing more. A tub, nothing more…” She whispered, beginning that chant that had begun to help her in moments like this, her body slowly relaxing, eyes opening to look at where she was, submerged in the contraption meant to simply bathe the user, nothing more, the memories of that horrible day slowly fading to mere shadows in the back of her mind.

Just as she began to relax, a pounding at the door threatened to crumble that wall inside her, making her jerk in the tub as her eyes moved towards the closed door, watching her mirrored reflection briefly tremble against the pounding insistence there.

* * *

 

Finding his footing after a long, slow descent from up north, Cassian shivered against the brisk cold as he drew his leathery wings up close, not missing the subtle lines of scars marring his otherwise perfect wings. Not enjoying the memories those scars evoked, he frowned, turning to stalk towards the house when a whistle caught his attention, furious he had come no closer to discovering who was brewing discontent amongst the war camps in Illyria, knowing that if they didn’t find them and handle them with care soon - the Night Court was wide open to civil war and potentially so much more with the other Courts watching.

Turning towards the welcome distraction from the fruitless journey he’d just wasted most of his day attempting, he saw Devlon throwing the scattered bokkens from around the training ring into a loose tarp, waving a hand to get his attention and draw him over.

“How many attended today?” He asked bluntly when he was close enough, eyeing Devlon’s reaction to his words. The old trainer merely scowled and Cassian growled, knowing how to read the man’s reactions. _Not enough, not nearly enough._

“We gave your camp until after Winter Solstice, as promised, so _why_ \--” He began with a snarl, only for Devlon to interrupt him with a barbed reply of his own.

“Got a new one today. The one staying in _your_ cabin. Dubbed her the ‘Fairy Princess’ since she wouldn’t give me her name. She plan on being a regular now? We training High Fae females as well as Illyrian women? What kind of training camp you want this to be, boy?” The older man grunted, glaring at Cassian, who had all but fallen silent at what Devlon revealed.

He blinked, making sure to clamp down on his expression as soon as the words registered. _Nesta came to training? To_ **_Devlon’s_ ** _training?_ Instantly, he was furious. He’d pleaded with her, teased and cajoled her, for _months_ , to get her to train with him - and she chose to train with _Devlon?_

He said nothing, shoving away and heading towards the cabin, ignoring Devlon’s grunt of disapproval. He had to see the evidence for himself, trembling with fury at how, even swept across the vastness of the Illyrian mountains, with only a few changes of clothing and a few meager books, that damned woman _still_ had the ability to hurt him, away from her bars and her endless strings of faceless bodies - now with her choice of training with yet another person but _him._ _Why not me, Nesta? What’s so fucking wrong with me, huh?_

As he stomped up the few stairs towards the front door of the cabin he now shared with her, he knew his anger was at something deeper than what she could touch, but her attempts to recoil at anything and everything he offered her dug deep, towards wounds he’d long since acknowledged but had never truly healed. Brushing off thoughts of his long-dead mother, his unknown father, and that ill-fated war camp he’d been bred in that now laid as a barren, brittle heap to the testament of that pain, he heard Devlon shouting at him in the distance.

“Well? Hey! General - _Answer me!_ She a regular now or not, eh?”

“She’ll be a regular,” He heard a soft murmur next to Devlon, just as his hand reached for the door handle to his cabin, freezing in shock. Slowly looking over his shoulder, he watched as Azriel answered for him, appearing suddenly out of a condensed group of shadows that appeared beside the Illyrian trainer, his dark gaze meeting Cassian’s across the snow-covered distance between the cabin and the training ring.

Gritting his teeth, not bothering to wait to hear whatever words Azriel would say next, he barrelled down the door and beat on the source of his fury - the woman in the bathroom.

“Open the damned door, Nesta. I know what you’ve been doing this afternoon. Open the door. Open it, Nesta. _Now_.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't write emotional constipation well and this chapter kind of just took on a mind of it's own. A little OOC for Nesta, but I'm blaming that on Cassian's stubbornness. Enjoy!

“I’ll do no such thing,” her distinct voice on the other side of the door hissed back, making Cassian’s blood boil. He curled his hands into fists, determined to beat down the door if that’s what it took to get her to face him. Struggling to contain his temper, he reached for the handle, testing it - fully expecting it to not turn - but it did, surprising him.

Ignoring the warning stirring in the back of his mind that he was about to overextend his boundaries and damage what little relationship they had, he stepped inside, slamming the door closed, blinking as he caught sight of something on the floor before he stared ahead and saw her.  _ Was that...hair? _

When his gaze finally clashed with hers - blue-grey fire and brown steel - he swallowed, staring at the sight of her small pixie-like hair cut close to her scalp. 

“You cut your hair?” He blurted, grabbing onto the first thing that came to his mind as his eyes roamed down of their own accord, swallowing down the brief sting of shock as he took sight of her bare form laying tensely in the half-full tub. Small pert breasts, a swan neck, swathes of creamy white skin that were covered in a series of bruises and welts from training surprised him - but the shock that resonated through him came from the obvious signs of malnourishment that her clothes had mostly hidden until now. He swallowed, forcing his reaction down, burying it at the bottom of his gut, knowing instinctually if he showed shock or despair at her appearance now she’d just cut him out for good. If he knew one thing about her, it was that her pride was legendary and she never -  _ ever _ -forgave those that hurt her.

Nesta, for her part, appeared unphased at his rude barging in of what should have been a private moment, eyes flashing in warning before she resumed her bath, reaching for the bar of soap and the sponge at the side of the tub. Without thinking of what he was doing, how wildly inappropriate it was to stay in here - let alone come closer - he stepped forward, brushing her fingertips away from the bar and sponge, grunting that he’d do it himself as he went to his knees on the other side of the bath. She bristled at the implication that she couldn’t bathe herself but he saw a hint of vulnerability flashing in the depths of ire boiling behind her eyelashes and said something he rarely ever did - _please._

“Let me, please,” he asked again, when she didn’t move, just stared at him coldly with that mask of perfect beautiful indifference. For the briefest moment, he doubted his confidence and almost stood to go, dismally acknowledging he'd probably ruined what little they had let between them, but she finally nodded and looked away, making him slowly release a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding while he had been waiting for her response.

_ One step at a time,  _ he thought, as he looked her over again. This was much worse than Feyre, Elain, or Rhysand knew and he couldn’t tell them, fearing if he did that no one would be able to reach her in time before she forcibly allowed herself to waste away. Instead, he went through the motions of giving her a bath, filing away what he saw in the back of his mind, focusing on what provisions he could bring in that were simple fare for the kitchen but rich in calories. If she was going to train with Devlon, something that still pissed him off, but he’d let it slide for now, seeing how bad her form was, she needed to eat more and he’d have to broach the subject delicately. In her current condition, he was shocked she’d even made it through the entire training Devlon typically outlined for the women, figuring that the only thing that had helped her endure the training was her endless amounts of sheer determination. Despite the shock at her appearance, he admired the hell out of her gumption and found himself suddenly fighting a smile.

“Devlon said it was a liability, so I removed it. It’s just hair,” she supplied stiffly, forcing him away from his thoughts as he looked up, realizing she’d answered his question about her hair being shorn. He simply nodded, ignoring how she grit her teeth and turned away from him to look at the other end of the bath as he lathered the sponge with the soap and began scrubbing her backside gently. She reached over, cradling her arms over her torso, as if suddenly reminded of her nudity. He watched her reactions as he trickled water down her neck and she sucked in a sharp breath, making him pause and frown.

“What’s the matter?” He asked, deciding to stick to the simple questions first, despite the multitude of complex emotions rolling inside his skull. What was eating at her so bad that her only way of coping was to starve herself and why hadn’t he noticed it before now? Sure, he knew she had lost weight, but she was practically waifish now when before she was all lush, provocative curves. He also cursed his temper, annoyed he’d allowed his past to color how he reacted to the knowledge of Nesta turning to Devlon before him, when he was intelligent enough to know why. He got under her skin and Nesta Archeron was a control freak, through and through, and avoided him at all costs.He knew that was a solid truth from the way she had acted around him, both before the war and after, figuring that perhaps what she had endured had something to do with it.

He refused to acknowledge that perhaps he cared so much because he knew how isolation and loneliness felt, far better than anyone, even his brothers. He knew the dark side of such emotions and no matter how tough Nesta Archeron was, it could easily threaten to destroy even the strongest men - and if it didn’t destroy, it left damaging scars. 

He had plenty of those himself, swallowing down that demon that rumbled at the edge of his thoughts - desolation, followed by a desperate longing for a place to belong that left one always off-kilter, sensitive, and completely alienated from those around you that actually cared enough to stay, being too afraid to take that leap of faith and embrace what was offered. He was too cowardly - his biggest secret and shame - to do it for anyone except the one he hoped to find one day, his mate. 

Washing her backside, his lips thinned when her head was turned the opposite direction, coming back to the present and burying his desires for now, reminded by her rigid form that despite wanting to get to know the real woman behind the prickly outer shell, Nesta very much did  _ not  _ want the same thing with him. 

_ Tough titties, Ice Princess. You’re going to let me into that thick skull of yours,  _ he vowed mutely, his eyes lowering, wincing slightly at the sight of her spine and shoulder blades protruding painfully beneath that gorgeous alabaster skin.  _ You’ve got to let  _ **_someone_ ** _ in before you kill yourself. You don’t talk to Amren anymore and no one else has the patience for you now.  _

His eyes traveled back up her form, shocked to see her staring straight at him, bright eyes wary, proud, but also slightly afraid.  _ But I do,  _ his thoughts sadly murmured back as he looked at her, still going through the motions of scrubbing her down gently, holding out a hand for her arms, still surprised when she simply handed him one and allowed him to continue to bathe her.  _ I care. I’ve always cared and...you know that, don’t you? That’s why you fight me so hard. _

“Turn around,” he rasped, struggling to contain his thoughts, knowing if he voiced them, she’d simply deny them and shut down again. He had to tread lightly with her, treat her like the caged animal he once was and knew all too well, recanting his childhood once more as he motioned for her to move in the tub, allowing him to continue.

“I can do the rest,” she replied, her tone cold, glaring at him. “You’ve seen enough of me for one day, don’t you think? I’m not a child.”

“No, you certainly are not,” he replied, his eyes lowering, watching her stiffen once more, moving to cover her breasts. He stopped her, his eyes coming up to meet hers, keeping his expression open and easily interpreted. “I’m not going to touch you unless you want it, but I’d very much appreciate if you’d let me finish. I’ve got some liniment ointment I can use for these welts and bruises forming.” He smiled then, keeping his tone light, almost gentle, as if he was speaking to a child. “Devlon trained me too, a long time ago. I remember what his lessons were like. Let me help. Please?”

Finally, after several silent seconds as she stared, her blue-grey eyes scanning his, she lowered her arms and allowed him to completely wash her. When he motioned for her to lean back so he could wash her hair, he didn’t miss the knee-jerk reaction of wild panic briefly flaring up in her eyes.

“ _No,_ ” she hissed almost immediately, locking down. “I’ll do no such thing. Give me the sponge, I’ll finish,” she snapped, reaching for it, her nails like claws on his wrist. Still, he refused to budge, frowning as he stared at her, trying to figure out her reaction.

“Why not? Why…” He suddenly blinked, eyes going wide, when the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. _The tub reminds her of her time in the cauldron. Fuck, how hadn't I seen that coming?_ Her eyes suddenly looked up, meeting his, and he saw the briefest flash of panic again before it was buried under layers of arctic bitter aloofness. 

“Give me the damned sponge, Cassian,” she growled, clawing at his wrist again.

* * *

 

_ He knows now,  _ her mind taunted at her, as she tried wrenching the sponge out of his immovable iron grip. He simply stared, stunned, refusing to budge. She was furious and frightened, both that he’d picked up on a small part of her fears regarding the tub - but worse yet, that she  _ felt _ something again inside her chest, those bricks she had laid so carefully before slowly nudging loose inside her.

“Can’t you just  _ leave me alone? _ ” She accused in the coldest, hardest voice she could summon, willing all the anger and fear she felt into her scowl, hoping it was enough to send him away, despite the flicker of pain it caused at the thought of him shutting down on her, potentially for good.

For once, he surprised her, simply smiling back, shaking his head slowly. “Nope, can’t. After your bath, it’s dinner. What do you want? I’ll even spring for something fancy, get Az who’s probably down the hall wondering why I’m still in here to bring us something fancy from Velaris. Now, I can understand why you don’t want to dunk your head back, but at least let me wash your hair and apply the ointment before we eat, alright?”

“I’m not some fucking fattening hog, or pet project, or baby bird for you to nurse back to health,” she shouted then, furious and afraid and knowing deep down he wasn’t going to stop, not with that look in his eye, shoving away from him and trying to stand and wriggle past him.  _ Why wouldn’t he just go away and leave me alone? I don’t want you here, Cassian! Go away! _

“Steady now,” he ordered, his tone sharp - the sound of a General demanding orders - making her still even when anger welled deep inside her, her eyes flashing in warning, as he scooped her up and held her close, not caring that she was soaking his leathers. “You’re overreacting and I’m just wanting to help. Let me wash your hair, then we’ll eat, and --”

“Let me  _ go, dammit! _ ” She shouted again, interrupting him as she bucked against his embrace, her wet form slowly wiggling loose against his grip. Cassian didn’t budge, his strength proving to outmaneuver her attempts to break free and suddenly, before she could control the savage spike of fury she felt at his commanding tone, she pressed a hand against his chest and really  _ pushed _ \- sending an arc of white-hot heat into his leathers, searing through the tough weathered hide.

Horror flashed inside her as he dropped her, shocked and hissing in pain, quickly using his own powers to put out the fire, realizing as he stared that not only had it burned, it charred his leather black and brittle, leaving black marks on his skin.

She staggered back, a harsh sob escaping her mouth, as she stared at what she’d done.  _ So that’s what happens,  _ she thought, bringing a trembling hand into her line of vision, studying her seemingly harmless fingers _. I suck the fucking life out of things.  _ Her eyes traveled back to his armor that he was shrugging out of with a curse, feeling something bubble up inside her that was an altogether new emotion, something so foreign to her it took her a minute to recognize what it was.

_ I’m a goddamned freak. That fucking cauldron made me a freak...  _ Bubbles of hysteria crept past her lips and she realized in disdain that she was whimpering. Disgusted with herself, she drew her body up short, dropping her hand and straightening her shoulders, putting that mask back in place and closing her eyes, counting backwards from one hundred, and tried again - this time with some measure of control - addressing Cassian that had gone quiet beside her.

“Please don’t ever do that again,” she admonished him, looking back his way. Cassian stared at her, his chest bare, holding a hand as a red glow pulsed over his fingers, healing the wound she’d managed to inflict, a new light entering his eyes as he stared back her way.  She almost flinched, fairly certain that the longer she stared, the more that new light seemed filled with revelations of accusation, shock, and horror at what she’d done, but she controlled the reaction, staring mutely at him with no expression flickering across her face as she turned to reach for the door again.

“Wait,” he murmured, his tone pleading. For some reason, she paused, glancing back at him. “I’m sorry, that was my fault. I’m just used to…” He winced, smiling faintly. “Not used to women like you. I...uh -- how about a shower instead of a tub?”

He motioned to the tub and Nesta’s eyes followed his own, blinking as what he said finally registered. For the oddest of reasons, his out-of-the-blue suggestion made her laugh.

_ A shower? That’s his apology? After what I had just done to  _ **_him?_ ** She stilled the noise, realizing he had stopped his smile, staring at her in wonder. Warily, she frowned.

“What is it?” She finally asked, gritting her teeth again, wondering if she’d fooled herself into thinking he wasn’t angry with her. He usually always was, why would that change now, just because he mentioned a shower?

He smiled again and shrugged. “You...laughed. Never heard it before now.”

She blinked, realizing suddenly she had forgotten that mask once more. Briefly, panic flared inside her chest, but when she searched and felt none of that foreign power that frightened her to death, began to relax. She shrugged a shoulder and rolled her eyes, reaching for the door handle again. “So I did.”

Opening it, they both stared as Azriel appeared on the other side, hand raised, as if he’d been just about to reach for the handle. His eyes widened at her appearance, eyebrows shooting to the sky as he stared, and she realized again that she was totally naked. Shrugging a shoulder, she sauntered past him, muttering for the liniment oil as she went. “Hello again, Spymaster. Bring me some of that stuff Cassian swears by, would you? I need to get ready for dinner.”

As she closed the door to her bedroom, she realized she’d forced both Illyrian powerhouses to a shocked mute state, once more finding a smile and a soft chuckle escaping past her lips.


	5. Chapter 5

The tavern was dark and crowded, lit only with a few oil lamps hung loosely by rusted nails in the tops of the wooden walls, with roughened Illyrian warriors mustering between tables and the bar, quenching their thirst and their frustrations with the cold winter setting in.

“Worst one we’ve had in years,” swore one male, grimacing and bringing up a pint towards his lips, sneering in the direction of his peers. “Don’t help that our larders aren’t where they should be, with what happened down south.”

A few muttered their agreement, some barely meeting Torin’s eyes that had started the grumble of distension amongst his side of the bar, most falling silent suddenly when they realized what  _ else _ they were missing. Torin frowned, angered to have set the dour mood swamping over his group and beyond, catching a few peering his direction, but he glared back at each of them boldly, daring them to deny it.

No one did, busying themselves with simply sending him warning glares and forcing down another gulp of their drink. 

It wasn’t spoken of often, especially now with Winter’s Solstice just behind them, when the Night Court as a whole - including the mountains of Illyria, which was part of Lord Rhysand’s lands  - had celebrated the festival meant to honor family and friends. It was like a raw wound, then, to celebrate such an event after the high priced victory in the war against Hybern, as many of those friends and family were rotting in a shallow grave, somewhere amidst Spring’s border and the mortal lands below. Simply put, there hadn’t been much to bring home, which made even the most seasoned warriors restless, their absence even more pronounced during the festival. It was one thing to die in battle, something an Illyrian felt a sense of pride to do, but to have  _ nothing _ to show for it? To die so  _ needlessly  _ against swells of beings so far above what they could do themselves? To have no grave or remembrance keepsake to take home so your family could honor your sacrifice? That was a pill they still hadn’t quite managed to swallow as a people and by the glares Torin was catching, they still could barely acknowledge - let alone accept - what had happened.

Hybern had obtained the mythical cauldron - a well of supposed cosmic power, one all too real once it began to do its work on the battlefield - and Torin had watched hundreds of his comrades die in one fell swoop as that unfathomable power leeched from that thing in Hybern’s camp. Standing on that battlefield, watching his peers turn to dust in mere seconds, the heavy blade in his hand all but useless, he had begun to wonder - as many had - had they been  _ wrong _ to pledge Illriya to the High Fae all those centuries ago? They had little choice, as the High Lord before Rhysand had taken an Illyrian female as a mate, breeding the strongest High Lord halfbreed the world had ever seen, but now - with so many dead - old grudges were becoming known once more. 

Faced with that looming unease, the camps were unsettled, the relations with those in the glittering metropolis known as Velaris and even the Court of Nightmare’s own Hewn City now precarious at best. The war lords at each of the camps talked, Torin was too perceptive not to notice, but they were still too wary to openly challenge the High Lord or his powerful Inner Circle.

To make matters worse, General Cassian and the rest of the Night Court’s Inner Circle began to push for more change, demanding their females be trained alongside their men, in equal standing.  He scoffed, thinking back when he’d been standing alongside those who’d made it back from the war with Hybern, listening to General Cassian explain in steely, unflinching words that all females were to be treated as warriors if they wished, no exception. Any females wishing to be trained as a warrior and denied would be moved to another camp and those males in charge of her made example of.

Remembering that day had Torin clenching his fist, wanting nothing more than to shatter the wooden table his arm rested against.  _ How dare they,  _ he thought,  _ demand such things of us when we haven’t even had a proper chance to mourn those we lost.  _

His eyes flickered to the back of the tavern, where a bar wench worked in a basin of soapy water, washing mugs and dishes alike. He noted the scars on her wings, made young from the looks of it, that ruined her chances of ever flying. His lips thinned, remembering how Cassian, that unclaimed bastard who had been lucky enough to be powerful to command their attention and then their armies, lectured them against such acts, wanting to train them, calling the mercy cuts that stilted the female's wings an act of disgusting abuse. As he stared at the scars lacing the woman’s wings, he couldn’t help but think to those men who had been slaughtered so needlessly.  _ You call us monstrous for permanently grounding our women, and yet you send us into a war hopelessly unprepared. What are a few small cuts, in the right spot, against those horrors? _

As if sensing his stare, the bar wench tensed, looking fearfully over her shoulder. She saw him staring and he turned, hearing the voice of his friend calling his name.  

“Easy, Torin. You’re gathering stares.” Torin snorted, but Enar gave him another level stare, and Torin wisely dropped what he’d started. Enar nodded subtly and looked at him for several moments, seemingly thinking. “Been looking after Gavin’s kid, then?” 

Torin sighed, thinking of little Hammund and his mother, Astrid, now at the mercy of the camp when Gavin had died during the war. He nodded, glancing back at Enar as the male’s lips thinned but he nodded in approval, sipping on his drink. “And how fares Astrid?”

“The chief wants her claimed again.” He replied. “I put my name in.”

Enar blinked, his eyebrows raising, but Torin stared back, his expression mutinous. “ _ What? _ ” He hissed, catching the look of hesitation in his friend’s eyes.

“You wish to  _ claim her? _ That is a serious bond, Torin.” Enar frowned, watching him cautiously, as Torin bristled at the implication.

“You think I don’t know that? She’s comely, even with one babe already born. She will make a good wife and has proven she’s fertile.” He didn’t mention that, as his friend lay dying, that he had promised to do anything to protect his family as the man pleaded with him, slowly succumbing to a painful death at the hands of that cauldron's magic.

_ Marry her, Torin,  _ Gavin had asked him.  _ I do not like the thought of her being alone in this world, with no one to protect my boy. Marry her for me - promise me you’ll do that.  _ He had promised, and if all went well, he would have a wife before winter was over. He knew he should feel at ease, but he didn't. He hadn't felt at ease about anything lately - the state of Illyria, the state of Prythian as a whole, the state of the world. The one thing he could control was Astrid and Hammund's well-being. If claiming Astrid gave him some measure of control at the chaotic new world he found himself in, he would take it and honor his dead friend's wishes.

Enar was at a loss for words and Torin used the brief silence to lean back and bark for another ale from the bartender behind him. The male glared, snarling at his tone, but when Torin threw a leather pouch of coin on the table, the male grimly went to do his wishes, reaching for a pint.

“I suppose a tentative congratulations are in order, then. Congratulations, friend...” Enar replied, Torin’s lips thinning at his friend’s subdued words of praise as he glanced back towards him. Enar stared back, smiling faintly, despite the dark caution Torin could still spot in his eyes, clapping him briefly on the shoulder. “How about the next round is on me? How many cups have you already had?”

Torin shrugged off the offer, standing and grabbing the pouch to head to the bar, eager to drown his complicated emotions in regards to Astrid in another pint glass. She was fetching, he’d have no trouble bedding her, but to take his dead friend’s wife still left him uneasy. “No bother,” he replied, waving off Enar’s coin. “Stay put.” He smirked at Enar’s query on his sobriety and simply replied that he’d drink until he was well and ready to be done, heading towards the bar.

Setting his pouch down, the bartender passed him the pint but waved off his coin. Giving the man a questioning stare, the bartender simply pointed down the bar, indicating a man in a dark cloak sitting alone. “He paid. Take it up with him.”

Frowning and nodding, taking the pint, Torin briefly looked at the male who smirked back, tipping his own glass towards him. Glancing back at his friend who watched curiously, Torin approached, trying to measure up the mystery male in front of him.

He was large, overly muscular, even for their kind, and lethal-looking. There was a coldness in his eyes that made Torin hesitate to speak, and a long jagged scar down the left side of his face, shielded behind large, braided chunks of midnight black hair. “Thanks for the pint,” he finally managed, catching sight of a pair of battered wings under the cloak, most likely roughened in battle, but strong. He tipped his head towards the male’s wings, then turned to display his own. “Hybern?”

“Some, yes,” the male replied in a dark, rumbling tone, a cryptic half-smile forming on his lips. “Most are not, however.”

“Care to join me and my friend?” He asked, gesturing to where Enar sat, watching. The male looked over towards his friend, then studied him, offering him a slow smile. For some reason, Torin considered the man’s keen interest in him like that of a snake, coiled and ready to spring, fangs hidden but lethal and sharp. 

“I’d be delighted,” the male rumbled, standing and following Torin towards the table. Enar raised a brow, still nursing his pint from earlier, as Torin introduced himself and his friend, waiting for the stranger to offer his name. 

The stranger simply smiled, his teeth overly bright in his dark face, the male’s skintone darker than the average Illyrian. “I’m pleased to meet you,” was all he said. 

When Torin opened his mouth to press for more information about their new companion, the stranger took it upon himself to lean forward, studying him with interest. “I couldn’t help but overhear your statement earlier. "So, ‘tis true, then, that the womenfolk are being asked to fight?”

Torin’s lips thinned as his anger flared and he nodded. The mysterious male said nothing, but the darkening of his black eyes made Torin feel a kinship in his rage. “It’s wrong,” he suddenly spat, leaning forward himself, ignoring his friend’s brief murmur of his name in warning. “It  _ is,  _ Enar,” he seethed, glaring at his friend, before he stared at the male who watched all this with a shadowy astuteness. 

“I do admit, I ponder the choices of the Night Court and it’s Inner Sanctum of bastards, halfbreeds, and freaks. It’s a shame, then, that we have to pledge allegiance to a Court who cares nothing for our history, our culture, or our traditions. Don’t you agree?” The male replied, his tone soft, not carrying past their table, as he watched Torin stare back, his eyes narrowing but saying nothing, silently agreeing.

“What you speak of is  _ treason, _ ” Enar warned, sitting forward himself, his eyes wary as he studied the male sitting with them in a new light. “Who are you, to make such statements? Are you a clan chief from one of the secluded mountain ranges up north?”

“No,” the stranger replied, standing and tipping his head towards them, draining his glass. “Just a concerned male, like you both are.” He sighed, glancing towards the bar wench Torin had been staring, catching their gaze as he looked their way. “Two small slits, against a sea of blood and death. How is  _ that _ wrong, hm?”

“Lord Rhysand and General Cassian are too powerful, even if what you say is true,” Enar warned again, his eyes darting about the tavern, realizing many eyes were on them, observing what was being spoken of. 

The stranger simply smiled. “If they are the High Lord and General you say they are, then riddle me this, my friend - Why did so many of our people needlessly die if they were such  _ powerful creatures? _ ”

With that, the stranger left, but as Torin and Enar looked about, seeing the whispered conversations, they glanced at each other, realizing they weren’t alone in thinking exactly what the male had said.

 

* * *

 

Nesta peered up from her dinner plate, her mask back in place, immediately sensing a scrutiny on her person as she poked at the food on her plate. She was dressed in her most presentable gown, her now shorn hair slicked back against her scalp, and despite the swathes of clothes and smooth hair, she still felt naked. She silently glared, meeting both Azriel and Cassian’s curious looks with a frigid one of her own, biting her cheek to hold back her amusement when both immediately dropped the look, turning back to their own food.

“Something the matter?” She asked crisply, watching as Cassian cleared his throat and reached for his glass of water,not meeting her gaze, and Azriel looking slightly mollified, if mostly stoic like herself.  

“ _ Well? _ ” She tried again, her face a smooth porcelain shield, and one again, neither male said anything. Watching two of the most feared Illyrians outside of Rhysand all but go silent next to her as they ate their dinner in terse silence had her rolling her eyes. “For fuck’s sake, they’re just breasts,” she finally muttered, reaching for her own glass of water, as she assumed their awkward silence was due to her earlier brief stint of nudity. "We all know you two have seen them before,  _relax._ "

Cassian coughed and Azriel stiffened, flicking his gaze her way. She raised an eyebrow, daring him to correct her that  _ that  _ was the reason for their silence, and the longer he stared and said nothing, the more a smug smile tugged at her lips.

“We didn’t say anything about breasts,” muttered Cassian, drawing her gaze his way. “But -  _ ah _ \- they were...er, nice. You,  _ ah, _ have nice breasts.”

Nesta stared, that mask still firmly in place, as his off-handed comment about her breasts jarred inside her head.  _ Did he seriously just compliment me on my boobs? _ The longer she stared, trying to understand that odd remark, the more Cassian seemed to grow uncomfortable. She simply shrugged a shoulder, bringing her glass to her lips, before finally muttering a reply under her breath. “Thanks, I guess.”

Cassian and Azriel looked at one another then suddenly burst out laughing. Nesta, for her part, simply stared at the two of them, watching them reduce themselves to silly teenagers the longer they snorted and chortled together at her response. When they looked her way, she rolled her eyes, only making them laugh all that harder.

“So,” Cassian said, when he was finally composed enough to speak, wiping at his mouth, a grin still in place as he looked back her way - the warmth in his gaze making her insides jolt painfully, searing through that ice cold layer of bricks she kept around her heart - his gaze sweeping over her form once more as he looked her over. The way he stared, she was reminded he’d seen  _ all  _ of her now, and dismally, she realized she was ashamed of what she’d allowed to happen to her body. If he’d seen her months ago, or when she was human, she wouldn’t be worried that part of that gaze consisted of pity. Shoving down the odd sensation, she focused on him as he tried to ask a question. “Azriel told me while you were getting dressed that you gave Devlon a run for his money, on your first day, no less.”

Nesta flicked her gaze back towards Azriel, who simply smiled, and she shrugged, looking back at Cassian. “He was doing things unfairly and I merely called him on the bad behavior.”

Cassian grinned at that. “Man, I always miss the good stuff. I’d have  _ paid  _ to see that.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his jaw, and for the first time she noticed the dark stubble lining his chin. She swallowed down the immediate spark of warmth in her core, refusing to acknowledge his attractiveness in his haggard appearance, also alarmed at the niggling sense of worry at what had embedded that tired expression in his face. “You plan on going back?”

She blinked, surprised to see him so jovial, knowing he’d entered the bath before when he no doubt had learned she had taken up training with the other women for the day, especially when he’d all but ordered her to stay in the cabin. He had hounded her for months to train and, being the inward coward that she was - too fearful to seem weak to an overbearing male like him, who would no doubt try and control her, something she refused to do - she had frostily declined his requests over and over again. Briefly glancing towards Azriel, who’s expression had also shifted back towards one of cool detachment, she wondered if he had told Cassian, after she’d specifically demanded he didn’t. As her eyebrow arched when his gaze caught hers, she struggled to contain her anger.  _ Did you tell him? _   


“Devlon caught me outside when I arrived back home,” Cassian clarified for her, when her eyes narrowed in the direction of the Spymaster. Azriel simply coolly stared back. She glanced back towards Cassian, still surprised at his amiable expression, as he asked the question again. “So, you are, right? Planning to go back?”

“Might as well, I suppose. I’ve only got the books Elain sent me on Winter Solstice and I doubt they will last me long. Why? Do you object?” She bristled, ready to go to war, when Cassian simply shook his head, bringing a forkful of meat and potatoes to his lips, chewing thoughtfully as he glanced over her.

“No,” He finally replied, pausing in his eating to point to her own dish. “ _ Eat. _ You’ve got to eat, if you plan to stand up to the training they’re going to put you through for more than a few days.”

She stiffened again at his words, feeling a splintering pain in her chest as his demand she eat speared at her heart, but she picked up her fork and forced herself to chew and swallow a few mouthfuls. Cassian watched her, his expression calm and kind, and she almost wished she could anger him like she used to so easily, preferring that expression to the one he wore now. Still, though, she had to admire the way he’d mentioned her malnourished form. He was right, and hadn’t made his comment one of disdain, simply stating fact. If she wanted to train, she needed to gain weight, otherwise she would fail to keep up with the class.

“No drinking, either. It dehydrates and you’re already at a disadvantage,” he continued when she’d managed to eat most of what was on her plate, feeling oddly bloated in her middle. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, unused to the sensation of having actual sustenance in her belly, and stilled, staring at him.

The look he gave her was the same he had worn when he demanded she eat, and once more she found she couldn’t argue, no matter how much the soft hidden command made her bristle in indignation. She simply nodded, glancing back at Azriel, who had said nothing during Cassian’s lecture.

“Any advice from the Spymaster while we’re on the subject of my sorry physical state?” She tartly called out to him, unable to resist the urge to be callous, feeling oddly exposed. She almost jolted once more, realizing that internal layer of bricks was only half formed and had likely been through most of the dinner. Still, feeling none of the odd sensations from before, she relaxed.

Azriel merely stared at her, his eyes wandering over her form. “Half days,” he finally murmured, his tone soft, but holding just as much strength as Cassian’s harsher ones. “At first,” he amended, catching the fire in her eyes. “I will bring you more books. We will focus on other things in the cabin, knife play, simple defensive measures. You will eat and drink what we give you, to our specifications, and you will join them for half a day each until you’re at a proper weight.”

Cassian nodded in agreement and both men watched her for her reaction, wariness glittering in their eyes. Nesta tensed, realizing that, despite the subtle order of their tone, they wanted her approval. Swallowing once more against the odd sensation that flared again in her chest, she polished off her dinner, nodding at Azriel before stepping away and gathering everyone’s plates, desperate to do  _ something,  _ immensely uncomfortable with the concerned stares of the two men.

“Agreed,” she replied, stepping into the other room to wash their dinner plates, but not before she saw both the men share a silent stare at the dining table, a brief smile pulling at their lips.


	6. Chapter 6

A knock at her door had Nesta frowning, sitting up and tugging the covers over her hips, slipping a snippet of ribbon between the pages of her book that Elain had given her for Winter Solstice, saving her place.

“Come in,” she murmured, running a hand over her face and head, so accustomed to pulling her hair out of her face that it took her a second to realize she no longer had hair long enough to worry about.

Cassian opened the door a few inches, peering inside. Once more, he wore a look of calm kindness and it set her insides on edge, but she responded quickly, draining her face of anything other than cool detachment. “Yes?”

“Hey, sorry,” he rumbled, stepping into the room. He wore a simple cloth tunic and loose leather pants - hints of the chiseled slabs of his pectorals and tattoos peaking past the low-cut collar, making her insides spark in warm, heated recognition. She’d never been able to hide that fact from herself - Cassian was a handsome male, even with the scars and damaged wings, or when he was half-caked with dried blood on the battlefield or sweaty from sparring. Her body always recognized that - the attraction between them. 

“Azriel is about to head back to Velaris, spend a few days there, get us some stuff we need,” he continued, making her jerk her gaze back up to his face, willing down the blush that threatened to bloom in her cheeks. If he noticed her stare, he didn’t comment on it, continuing on in that look of obliviousness that she couldn’t quite tell if it was calculated or genuine. Either way, it relaxed her, and she was internally grateful, listening to him prattle on. “You mentioned books at dinner, I thought…” He winced, looking away a moment, before glancing back at her. “I thought you might want to make a list for him. Cauldron knows if you leave it up to him to select them what you might end up with. It could be an illustration of how to field strip a cannon for all I know.”

Nesta fought a laugh that threatened to bubble past her lips, thinking of the Spymaster standing in a bookstore, at an utter loss for what a female of her upbringing would like to read. Still, watching Cassian once more briefly fidget, appearing nervous and self-conscious at his thoughtfulness, had her relaxing and sitting up further. “Sure,” she replied softly, for once letting a small smile tug at her lips.  _ When he’s like this, I can almost see us… _

She forcefully stopped that thought, reaching inside, fumbling blindly for those elusive bricks that had begun to fail and crumble around her lately. Luckily, they were intact. Thinner than usual, but intact all the same. She let out a slow breath as Cassian stepped forward, handing her a piece of parchment and a dipped quill. As she began to write, she felt the mattress dip, realizing he’d settled on the only thing to sit on while she made her list - her bed. Her fingers trembled briefly, but she focused once more on the list she was creating, purposefully not pulling her eyes away from the document.

“Also be sure to include any foods you like. I’m not very imaginative when it comes to meals, sadly. I’ll be sure to stock anything you want. I want you to...like it here.” He murmured, catching her attention, unable to resist looking at him as he spoke those words. They struck home - and as her eyes met his brown ones unflinchingly, she felt a few bricks wriggle loose. The longer she stared, the more they seemed to crumble, and he smiled back. 

“It’s not the worst place I’ve been. You never did see my old home, before we had that home you came to. It was…” She swallowed, frowning, realizing her mask was gone, but suddenly not caring, lowering her eyes to scribble a few things down.  _ Flour, eggs, water, sugar, baking powder… _ “Not nice, we’ll just say. We had nearly nothing most of the time. Well, you know that, given Feyre…”

She paused, looking back at her list, adding additional ingredients, feeling those bricks continue to tumble and fall as she thought of her sister and the past that seemed so far removed from who she was now. It was the first time she’d spoken her name aloud or thought about her since coming here and bristled, waiting for the comparison to come, or the reminder that she’d been too consumed with anger at everyone and everything to help her little sister in allowing them to survive. Part of her even then had wanted to die, but she was too much of a coward to do it, lashing out in the only way she knew how - with ice old fury or stony indifference. Besides, Elain needed her - Feyre being too distant for her sister to connect to - and it gave Nesta some small comfort, having one gentle thing in her life. Thinking of what had happened to Elain since the Cauldron, she was thankful she hadn’t left them before all that, still feeling that well of anger that never left her for what they did to her - forget  _ herself _ , Elain was fragile, even moreso since returning from that pit of hell -  but still, the more she thought about her past and her current life - so cut off from anyone that had meant even the slightest thing to her before, the more she…

“Hey,” Cassian murmured, somehow able to sense her runaway thoughts, now that her mask was gone. She glanced over at him, blinking slowly, shocked to find a scald of fresh tears tugging at her eyelashes.

“I didn’t grow up with nice shit, either,” he murmured, tipping his head to the side. “No judgement here. We don’t have to talk about your sisters or the past. Not if you don’t want to.”

She sent him a disbelieving look, remembering his harsh words the day he’d come to her apartment in the rundown section of town she called home, before Feyre and the others of the Inner Circle cast her here with little disregard. It had  _ hurt _ , watching and the others stare at her like a distasteful insect under a microscope, even if she had been proud of how little she’d shown of her injured reaction. He had been angry and disgusted, not doing anything to hide that fact, of both her drinking habits, long list of lovers, and the shabby conditions she preferred. Glancing up, seeing that soft kindness in his face, she wondered what had changed. 

Suddenly, she felt mortification creep over her face. Was he hiding it now, behind this friendly facade, when all she did was continue to disgust him? Remembering the shock on his face as he bathed her, she wanted to crawl in a hole and hide, feeling her fingers twitch on the quill, desperately wanting to tug the blankets around her hips over her shoulders. So what if she drank herself to oblivion? Wasted away to nothing? It was her life, her choice. But the look of saddened shock had moved her much more than his angry words and for once, she was truly afraid. 

Instead of saying any of this aloud, she said nothing, dropping her gaze, continuing to methodically list out all she would need, willing for that mask to slip back into place with every ounce of willpower she had access to. “I’ll cook, I don’t mind, since I have little else to do here other than read or train,” she commented, brushing past that gentle tone he’d used, returning hers to a more frigid, formal one.

When she was done writing out what she needed, handing it back over to him, that mask was back in place - the bricks around her heart once more intact - and she began to relax, not even reacting to Cassian’s tight frown as he stared at her. He knew something had shifted in her mind, the scowl on his face showing his dislike of whatever thought process had made her clam up, but she refused to budge.

Fully expecting him to snarl or say something caustic, when he finally blinked and smiled warmly, looking down and reading over the list, Nesta visibly flinched when his eyes were elsewhere. The anger she could handle, but the kindness…

_ Please don’t let this exile last long,  _ she thought with panic, studying his tattoos once more, her body perking, warmth sluicing through her.  _ I don’t know how much of this I can handle. _

“Seems doable to me,” he commented, glancing back up, giving Nesta enough time to jerk her gaze back to his face, watching a smile transform his expression. She shrugged a shoulder, keeping her own stonily placid, and he stood, heading for the door. “The liniment oil working?” He randomly added as he reached for the handle, glancing back at her. She had refused to move, to tug the covers from her hips away and reach for her book, not until he was gone and the door firmly closed once more. She nodded. 

“Good,” he replied, giving her a thorough once-over that had her nerves once more dancing beneath her skin, then turned back towards the door.

Suddenly, a wild thought occurred to her, and she blurted out the words before she could stop them. “Are you...alright? From the bath? When I…?” She held up a hand, lowering her eyes, refusing to meet his own when he turned back to her.

“Yes, fine,” he murmured, stepping back towards her and lowering down to settle beside her on the bed. She tensed, not looking up, only doing so when he murmured her name several times. Cursing her stupidity for engaging him - hadn’t she  _ just _ wanted him to leave? - she let her eyes meet his own, catching the concern and surprise there. “What was that, by the way? Did the cauldron give you that?”

“I think so,” she murmured, trying to think of  _ what  _ it was exactly she felt when it made itself known inside her. Her eyes dropped, making her desperately reach for that mask, feeling it slip as she trembled again, hating displaying weakness -- but that feeling it left her with as it welled up  _ terrified  _ her. “I don’t know. It won’t happen again. I apologize for earlier. I slipped is all.”

“Slipped?” Cassian murmured softly, not moving, but she could feel his gaze on her. She sighed, closing her eyes, feeling so unlike herself as she looked back his way briefly, then glanced out the window again. “Amren showed me how to make...walls. In my mind. For the High Lord meeting. I’ve been using it to…” She swallowed, shuddering, closing her eyes.

“To keep that power at bay,” he murmured, surprising her. She looked back his way, noting his expression hadn’t changed - continuing to stare at her with open, warm honesty - and she nodded. 

“Not a  _ bad _ idea, but there’s better ways to handle it. You need to learn what it can do, so you can better control it in the future,” he continued, making her bristle. Cassian stared at her, a small frown tugging at his lips when her expression went arctic, shaking his head and reaching for her chin, idly stroking it with his fingers. She blinked, not sure if he realized what he was doing, his gaze unfocused, head slightly tilted away and she realized she enjoyed it too much to pull away while he didn’t notice. 

“I’m  _ serious _ , Nesta. Being untrained sometimes is more dangerous than being trained - even in things that scare the piss out of you. When I was younger, when I figured out all this power I had...I felt like a freak, a monster,” he replied, talking about his own past, something that made her still and listen to the words he was saying, dimly realizing he was right - he was sort of like her, an aberration according to Illyrian standards, much more powerful than any male had any right to be, thinking of all the siphon stones he had to wear on his leathers each morning before he left the house. “Only Az or Rhys knew what it was like, to have the amount of power we did. There was no rules, no boundaries - not for what we could do. We had to figure them out along the way, so we could feel in control again. Is that...why you didn’t train with me before? You were scared?”

That word -  _ scared _ \- made her jerk back, feeling his fingers loosen from her jaw. He blinked, eyes widening, as he dropped his hand, somehow seeming to not realize himself that he’d touched her. She stared, challenging him with her glare, to say she was a coward. Not after everything she’d been through - for Elain, for the state of the world if Hybern had one, for what she’d done to that monster of a King….

“Nesta, babe - look at me,” Cassian growled, suddenly surging forward, grasping either side of her face with his palms, eyes dark and intent, his own inches from hers. “There’s nothing wrong with being afraid. You’re not a coward,” he paused, nodding as her eyes flickered, warily realizing he’d picked up on her train of thoughts, the warm roughened pads of his thumbs stroking the hollows of her cheeks. “I’m afraid  _ all the damn time. _ You can be a bitch at times, yes, but - you are most  _ definitely _ brave. I don’t doubt that for a damned second, even if you have fears. That makes you…”

“ _ Human? _ But I’m  _ not _ , remember? Human anymore? I’m...this... _ thing _ .” She sneered, trying to pull back, shuddering as she felt his breath tickle her lashes - realizing he was that close to her face. He frowned, glaring, true fury shining in his eyes for a moment, picking up on the soft insult that because she was now  _ other  _ \- as if becoming immortal, like him, was somehow considered a freak or twist of nature in her mind - made her somehow disgusting.

“I was going to say  _ normal, _ ” He growled, his eyes lowering, staring at her mouth. She paused, still angry, but feeling her heart begin to hammer in her chest as she felt his fingers flex, his breathing pick up, his form lean slightly closer, the longer he stared at her mouth. She struggled with what to say, what insult to hurl, as he slowly crept forward.  _ Gods no, don’t --  _ Even her thoughts stopped, when he was mere inches from her, turning that desperate refusal into a plea of hope --  _ Yes, do kiss me, please...kiss me… _

A knock on the door made them both jump and pull back, just as the door opened, Cassian’s hands dropping from her face as a bored Azriel appeared, leaning against the door frame to the hallway. He was chewing on some sort of bread that was left over from dinner, giving them both a silent cursory look before his eyes fastened on the parchment she’d filled out. “Is my list ready? I want to head back before the Northern winds kick in. I can sense a storm coming.”

“Fucking hell, Az, I was going to bring it to you,” Cassian muttered, standing and thrusting the parchment his way, shouldering past Azriel and refusing to look at her as he went. “Get some rest,” he muttered to her - back to that familiar agitated state she was used to - as he moved. “Tomorrow’s going to be rough.”

Azriel cast her a friendly smile and closed the door. Letting out a whoosh of air, Nesta fell back into the bed, frowning as she replayed what had just happened. Panicking once more, she counted bricks until she fell into a troubled sleep.

* * *

“Not a single. Damn. Word.” Cassian growled in warning, now that he was standing out in the hallway with Azriel, who sent him a cool knowing stare. The Spymaster raised his hands in silent surrender and Cassian muttered another curse under his breath before storming down towards the kitchen, wishing that he had a spare bottle of something stronger than coffee or tea. 

Arousal spiked through him, making his pants painfully tight, abrading his skin, as he thought of  _ fucking close _ he’d been to kissing her right there. In that moment, those blue-grey eyes of hers had been unguarded and he’d seen the want in them, shimmering brightly. All he had to do was lean just forward just a  _ little _ more, and…

“So, this it?” Azriel murmured softly from behind him, finishing up that piece of bread, his soft words and the small crunch of his food like knives scraping along his innards, cutting off that fantasy before he embarrassed himself in front of his friend. He nodded, forcefully cooling the heating of his blood, before looking back over at his friend. 

“That’s all she wants, yeah. I got a few things to add. Put it on my tab,” He commented, flopping into a seat at the kitchen table and scrubbing a hand over his face. “Make sure to get oats, wheat barley, milk, you know the drill for making those porridge recipes Rhys’ mother made us eat that one winter, right?”

Azriel’s face brightened marginally and he nodded, dropping down across from Cassian, adding a few other ingredients to the list. He said nothing but he knew of those times - back when him and Cassian had been outcasts, taken in by Rhysand, more bones and skin than anything else. Somehow, his mother had known, feeding them a strange mixture that tasted and went down like porridge, but it had enabled them to overcome their own malnourished forms in quick order, to avoid running out of fuel for training or fending off random attacks during training. 

Cassian nodded once Azriel was done, looking up, and he ticked off a few more items to grab. “A boiled brigandine with smaller, dime-sized knit pellets throughout, none of that plate nonsense, not with her size and weight. Some greaves, bracers, so her thighs and arms aren’t so damned bruised when she comes home. What’re you thinking for weaponry?” He asked, watching Azriel write, then mull over what he asked.

“Start small. A push dagger, maybe a kris, and a short sword to train with, once they advance past the bokkens Devlon favors,” Azriel murmured, glancing at Cassian. “She’ll never be fast, from what I saw yesterday, but she is smart. Let her use those skills, in lesser weapons - in moves the enemy won’t see coming. With the right focus, she’ll be able to outmaneuver even someone of your size, but first she’s got to get down the basics.”

Cassian nodded and Azriel moved to make note of them, pausing as he tapped the sword entry. “There’s a good blacksmith here that can do the sword, it’s just as fine as anything Velaris could make. The others, I’ll fetch there. I’ll put it in before I leave.”

“Good,” Cassian murmured, once more scrubbing a hand over his face, trying desperately to forget the way she looked in that bathtub but unable to drop the image the longer they discussed armor and weaponry for her. She had been so small, so fragile, all sharp edges and haunted expression, and he suddenly remembered what he had promised her. “Fuck, before I forget, but a word in with him and see if any of the carpenters in town can come and rip the tub out, put a shower in its place.”

Azriel raised both eyebrows, giving Cassian a speculative look, and he couldn’t help but tell him what occurred when he’d offered to wash her hair. If Azriel thought the request to wash her was odd, he said nothing, merely blinking in stuttered surprise as the significance of the bathtub registered.

“Yeah,” Cassian sighed, shaking his head and tiredly running his thumbs along the tops of his eyelids, feeling a headache coming on. “Can’t believe I didn’t think of it, either.  _ Fuck,  _ that means she’s felt like that for months. I mean, her apartment --”

He paused, blinking, thinking back to her hovel of a home, realizing she hadn’t had a shower there either. A sharp exhale whistled past his teeth, and he was once more admiring her spirit.  _ No, Nesta... _ His thoughts rumbled, warmed and aroused and humbled, as he remembered that cracked tub, those peeling walls, and what she must have endured when she needed to bathe, forcing herself bit by bit to confront her fears head on.  _ No, you are no coward…. _

Azriel cleared his throat, drawing Cassian back to the present. He frowned, glancing his way, shrugging a shoulder as Azriel shot him another speculative stare. “She had a...tub. For Cauldron’s sake, she must’ve been  _ terrified _ , but she bathed in it all the same.”

Azriel paused, going preternaturally still, as if he thought through what Cassian said. “I think…” He murmured, catching Cassian’s stare as he looked his way once more, his own drifting down the hall, to the door she occupied. “...that she’s wrestling with stuff we didn’t even know about. She’s good at hiding pain, fear, rejection, anger….we...may have miscalculated the depths of her control.”

“Tell me about it,” He muttered, opening his mouth to mention what  _ else  _ she’d  done in that bathroom, having not shown Azriel the state of his chest piece, but chose to keep that to himself. He’d already exposed far more secrets of hers that he was sure she would have killed him for, and that one --- that one was one he wanted to keep between them, at least for now. “Kinda makes me feel like a piece of shit for what I said to her that day, before she came here. I had...no idea. I should’ve pushed harder. Hell, Az, she looks half-starved. How the  _ fuck  _ did we miss this?”

“She wouldn’t let you in,” Azriel reminded him, glancing back his way. “She wouldn’t let  _ anyone in.  _ Not Feyre, Amren, myself,  _ especially you. _ ” Cassian flashed him a warning glare, a soft growl escaping past his lips, but Azriel mere stared him squarely in the face, calmly challenging him to deny it. He couldn’t, scowling further, but Azriel merely went on, unperturbed. “I think this place will be good for her, good for you. Allow you two to…”

“ _ Drop it,”  _ Cassian warned again, his tone lethal. It pained him to think if she came here, healed, but didn’t want him, it would leave him broken and her whole, able to leave him. It was one of the reasons back home he never pushed, never demanded more than what she was willing to give, and he  _ certainly  _ didn’t want to think about it now, maybe not  _ ever. _

As usual, Azriel stopped what he was saying, only to give him a knowing stare. It chaffed him, knowing his friend could so easily read him, but he brushed off the soft look in Azriel’s eyes - just a brief hint of it, then it was gone - before Azriel rose and headed for the door, grabbing his cloak.

“Don’t tell Feyre, Rhys, or Elain about any of what I told you,” he suddenly added, sitting up and twisting to catch Azriel’s gaze before the male left for the front door. “ _ None of it _ , understand?”

“I understand,” Azriel murmured - and Cassian knew he did. Despite Rhysand being one of them, a true friend and brother, only Azriel and Cassian knew truly what it was like to bear scars like the ones Nesta had. They ran deep, and exposing them to others could make them lose her forever.

Cassian nodded once more, dropping back in his seat as Azriel left, looking briefly at the fire and rising before putting it out and padding down towards his bedroom door as soon as the meager light was banked.

Once more, he thought of who was just across the hall from him, asleep and most likely covered, in yards of blankets and silk bed clothes that he wanted nothing more than to strip away and kiss her, touch her, show her how good it could be between them. 

Just like that - he was aching, leaning against the door frame to her closed door, clenching his hands into fists and dragging them to the side when he caught himself reaching for the handle. Spinning, heading into his own room, he swiftly closed the door and tore off his pants, his linen shirt, and tumbled into bed, groaning faintly in annoyance at his body - hard, insistent, unable to calm - as he reached down, gripping himself.

Partly mortified, partly ashamed, but mostly aroused, he couldn’t stop himself it he wanted to. He needed sleep and his body was not going to allow it, not until he let the fantasy that persisted inside his head play out. Groaning, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his voice down, he flexed his fingers and  _ tugged,  _ closing his eyes as he focused on the  _ one female  _ who sated him these days.

It had been  _ months  _ since he took a lover - something almost unheard of for him. He’d stopped taking them when they were back in Velaris, hoping against hope  _ she  _ would break down and come to him. But, she never did. Instead, she let  _ someone else  _ take her to bed, touch her body, bring her to orgasm a few times - he’d snooped enough, making sure she made it home, inadvertently hearing  _ that  _ more times than he cared to - to know that most she used to service her didn’t measure up, not in the way that mattered.

_If it was me,_ he thought, his groans turning ragged, the longer he closed his eyes, replacing them with himself, showing her all that he could do, _would_ do, if she’d just let him, _...I’d make you scream ten times over before I’d let myself go. I’d show you just how good it feels, to find yourself there, again and again, strangling my face with your thighs, my cock with your…_

Suddenly, it hit him, making him twist and groan into fistfuls of sheets as he convulsed, shuddering into the linen shirt he’d ripped off in frustration upon storming into the bedroom. Just the thought of her, the scent of her, had his head exploding, his cock spurting, his body feeling drained but relaxed in a way only fantasizing about her brought about.

Sighing, releasing himself and cleaning his body, he wadded up the shirt, tossing it in the corner discreetly, once more feeling embarrassment well up inside him for what he just did. Eventually, he found sleep, but it was troubled, filled with blue-grey eyes and golden brown hair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS - Just add "cock block" to Az's list of credentials. XD


	7. Chapter 7

Nesta stretched, yawning faintly and frowning, tilting her head to the side to peer out the window. In the distance, she saw the women already training and wanted to rise and join them, but remembered her promise to Cassian and Azriel the night before. Besides, when she tried to sit up, every bruise, scrape and sore muscle came alive with painful awareness, making her moan softly in pain.

Glancing towards the door with narrowed eyes, seeing it firmly closed, she hobbled as best she could towards the mirror near the closet and unbuttoned her night shift, letting it slip off her shoulders. She hissed, eyes going wide briefly, as she tipped her form this way and that, seeming a myriad of bruises of all shapes, sizes and colors adorning her skin.  _ Holy hell, _ she thought in dismay,  _ they weren’t kidding about me feeling like I got ran over by a cart of wild horses carrying ten tons of boulders. Son of a bitch, this hurts. _

Stepping out from the pool of fabric, Nesta winced but forced her body to move, stretching as she reached for her chest of drawers, pulling out a chemise and other undergarments, dressing quickly and quietly, her eyes roaming towards the door once more. Surprised she hadn’t heard a knock - or anything else, for that matter - she quickly slipped on a dress and smoothed her locks back, glancing outside once more. The training, from what she could surmise, didn’t have long until it broke for lunch, and she’d make sure to eat and then dress in something more appropriate to train in, antsy to do something outside rather than sit in her room and read. She didn’t reflect long on how odd that seemed to be, given that she’d never cared for the outdoors before, but she chalked it up to being in a mountainous region of sparse, sprawled villages rather than rotting in a hovel on the edge of a town or in the middle of a Metropolis. Something about this place called to her and she enjoyed the change, deciding not to think too heavily on the reason.

Opening the door, she looked across the hall and saw Cassian’s door closed. Stepping forward, too much a coward to turn the handle, she merely leaned in, listening, hearing nothing. Shrugging a shoulder, figuring he had left for the day, as he was an early riser, she walked down the hall, noting the banked fireplace and untouched gathering room. The kitchen, however, was now fully stocked, surprising her when she saw all the jars lining the countertops filled with what she specified.

Her eyes focused on a note resting on the table and she walked towards it, picking it up. She briefly smiled at the script, since she was alone, shaking her head as she read over it once more, turning to catch the envelope by the door it mentioned.

_ Nesta - _

_ Cassian has business as usual in the remote villages up north. I’ve brought back most supplies you’ve requested, more on the way. I will be spending the afternoon in Velaris and hope to be back before nightfall. Cassian may or may not join us for dinner, depending on how late his business runs. I’ve left some coin and explanation in the envelope by the door to commission you a sword. The guard outside the home will accompany you to the forge and ask for the smithy to commission the work for you.  _

_ Do not try and outrun him, he can fly and you cannot.  _

_ Also, feel free to give the daggers near the hearth a try. I set up a board across the room - try and see how close you can get to the mark. You’re welcome to join the women this afternoon, but no more than that. _

_ I’ll see you for dinner. _

_ -Az _

Re-reading the last part made her blink and straighten her shoulders. Frowning, pocketing the notes in her skirts, she moved towards the door and jerked it open, watching as an Illyrian male on the other side turned, blinking in surprise as he caught her frosty expression.

“Morning, Miss. You must be…” He began, only to stop as Nesta held up a hand, her gaze intent as she scanned him over. He seemed amiable, almost charming, and rather laid back from some of the brutish males she’d seen thus far, namely the ones that had gathered the other day around the training ring, taunting her and the other females.

“You know well enough who I am, pleasantries aren’t needed. Your name, soldier?” She asked, stepping aside, indicting he should come in. He hesitated and she narrowed her gaze once more. “ _Get in the house_ , soldier. No sense in standing outside and freezing half to death. I’m no lady, so relax - being caught with me won’t harm my reputation in the least.” With that, she turned, heading towards the kitchen, intending to make herself a meal.

The Illyrian shuffled in after her, looking slightly embarrassed at being dressed down by a High Fae. She glanced his way, watching as he looked around, eyes wide, before glancing back at her, his expression going cold, almost distant, as if wary to show too much emotion when she stared. “Your name?” She asked again, setting about to starting a pot of coffee and porridge for herself, idly surprised at the ingredients on hand for the meal. It was an unusual addition, but she realized Azriel had probably purchased them to help her gain some much needed weight, and went about making her lunch with the odd ingredients.

“Enar, Ma’am,” the male replied, standing by the door. Nesta gestured to a chair at the table and when he failed to move, sent him a stern glare. The man blinked, realizing that it hadn’t been a request, but a command, and promptly sat. She nodded curtly, then began focusing once more on her meal. 

“Coffee? They do feed your kind that here, don’t they?” She asked, tilting her head back towards him once more, catching him staring, a wary look in his eyes. He nodded and she turned back to what she was doing, ignoring the sound of him shifting in his seat, unclasping his cloak and weapons belt, focusing on making a proper meal. When it was done, she placed it all on a tray and brought it over, setting it in front of them both. He stared, unsure of what to make of the situation, so she busied herself by serving them both.

“Eat,” she finally commented, when he simply continued to stare, long after she’d placed his meal of coffee and sweetened porridge in front of him. He blinked, a dusky color creeping into his cheeks, then did as he was told. She watched him as she began to eat her own meal, forcing herself to swallow several bites at once before nursing her coffee. She still wasn’t used to eating so much, but Cassian’s offhanded comment from the night before still lingered, spurring her into eating more than she normally would.

“Do you live in this village, Enar?” She asked, annoyed at the silence and the male in front of her who continued to say nothing, his eyes completely downcast as he ate. He shook his head, wiping at his mouth with the napkin she’d provided, sitting back in his seat to look her way once more, despite the brief look of discomfort that flashed across his face as her eyes boldly met his.

“No, Ma’am. I’m from further up North, but the Spymaster came to my home last night, employed me to you, when he and the General are out, so here I am. I’m taking up a room at the Inn, down by the smithy.”

“Nesta, please. No one calls me Ma’am.” She pondered this, her eyes looking towards the envelope. “Did he tell you about the sword?”

“Yes, Ma’a--I mean, Nesta. He did. I assume after you’ve eaten, you’d like to go?” He quickly fumbled past almost calling her ‘ma’am’ again, making her internally soften towards him. He was unlike most Illyrians and she tilted her head to the side, inspecting him.  _ Why in Prythian did Az select you of all people? You don’t seem the type he’d hire.  _

“Yes, that would be nice. You know the Spymaster personally?” She asked, trying to pinpoint why this softened version of an Illyrian was here. By the look of shock and amusement flashing across his face, she had her answer. No, he didn’t know him, so where -- suddenly, she saw red, knowing exactly why this softened version of an Illyrian warrior was here.  _ Cassian, you bastard, you thought I wouldn’t be able to handle another, rougher version of you? Or what? I'd want to fuck him on sight? _

She clenched her fingers around the cup of her coffee mug, willing herself to remain calm while the male across from her spoke, not forgetting how close she’d been to kissing Cassian last night. That was probably why he was here, sensing that Cassian knew she'd find the docile, complicit male in front of her off putting. _Bastard,_ her thoughts snarled, but she dropped it, thinking briefly of what she remembered seeing of Cassian last night. No, if anyone was getting fucked in this house, it would be him, she realized dismally. Focusing her eyes on him, she blinked at his next words, dropping the brief fantasy. “No, Miss Nesta. I know the General. I was one of his sentries, in the war down south, near the mortal lands, when we fought Hybern. He requested me, it was just the Spymaster that delivered the order.”

That bit of knowledge had her pausing, her eyebrows shooting up briefly. He’d been there, during the war? “I’m sorry for your loss,” she immediately responded with, remembering how that cauldron had all but dusted several legions of the Illryian army. “That must’ve been a hard time for you.” She blinked, surprised at her need to comfort him. She never said such things, but something about the man’s softness called that out of her, despite not finding him attractive in the least. 

He frowned, his eyes growing clouded, as he nodded, looking down at his porridge and filling the silence that followed with eating. Sighing, sipping on her coffee, she did the same.

* * *

 

“Just let me change, so when we return, I can join the others. I’ll only be a moment,” she called over her shoulder, grabbing the pair of lone pants and shirt she owned from the bedroom, ducking into the bathroom as she heard Enar’s brief grunt of acknowledgement. 

After lunch, he’d stationed himself by the door and would no longer listen to her commands to relax, keeping his gaze trained outside. When she’d gone to press him again, he sidled her with a glare, reminding her he had a job to do and a General and Spymaster to report to. She stared back, but finally nodded, going to change as he had warned her the walk to the village would take considerable time, as would commissioning the piece from the smithy.

Closing the door behind her, she frowned as she stripped, still feeling her body sting from yesterday’s ordeal. Suddenly, on a whim, she caught an ivy in the bathroom out of the corner of her eye, turning and staring at the potted plant. That power she feared brushed against her senses as she stared at the foliage, not so strong that it scared her, but instead almost caressed, seducing her to reach forward, will that power into her fingertips, and touch the plant by the windowsill.

She did, and gasped at what occurred. As with Cassian, a white arc of flame shot up from her hand, her fingers glowing blue, and suddenly, the plant went black and withered and died. Jerking her hand back, panting, the power faded, leaving her feeling slightly warmed in her center, if not a bit light-headed, making her frown. Blinking, she realized with the jerk that her body hadn’t hurt with the sudden movement, whirling and looking at herself in the mirror.

What she saw as she stared at her reflection made her tremble - in fear, in awe, in confusion.  _ What….? _

Lifting her chemise, she watched as the worst of the bruises faded, returning her skin back to a normal, healthy shade. In fact, some of the hollow of her ribs seemed to disappear, returning to normal. Still, it was only brief - a mere few seconds at least - and then the sensation crawling under her skin was gone. She stared, jerking her eyes up, startled to see the shadows under her eyes slightly alleviated, her face looking more full.

_ What the fuck was  _ **_that_ ** _? What am I, now? A goddamned...siphon? Is that it? _ Stepping forward, she lifted a trembling hand to her face, smoothing her fingers over her cheeks. She could almost feel it briefly, that added element to her own life, her eyes looking back towards the now dead plant. She’d taken from it, given what it had to herself, and in return, it healed her. Swallowing, she hurriedly dressed, grabbing the pot and tossing the ruined plant in the trash. She sure as hell hoped it wasn’t something Cassian loved, or else she would have a lot of explaining to do.

Opening the door, she didn’t look back, just counting bricks inside her head as she called for the Illyrian to lead her into town. “Enar? You ready? Let’s go…”

* * *

 

 

The town was wholly different than anything she’d ever experienced, but yet very much the same as the human village she had grown up near with her sisters and father, in that shack they called a home. The smithy’s place stood out sharper than the rest, the largest building in the town square, several Illyrian males in dark heavy aprons hammering various metals into shapes of weapons of war. She was reminded again that these people were harsh, their men strong as Cassian had said, bred for one thing and one thing only - violence.

“This way,” Enar muttered, trudging along in the snow, and Nesta followed, the envelope from Azriel tucked into the breast pocket of her coat. A few villagers paused, studying them, both the males and females casting her dubious, hostile glances. She remembered that to these people, she was High Fae, almost unwelcome, given the response to the war she’d seen in Enar’s face at lunch. She stared back, blue-grey eyes glinting in challenge, and most looked away, dismissing her gaze as an annoyance. A few, however, met her glare with one of their own, and it was only Enar calling her name that drug her back to the task in which she’d joined him here for.

“Miss Nesta, we’re here...just let me get the lead smithy, and... _ what are YOU doing here?” _ He suddenly growled, startling her as she adjusted her gaze towards the male at her side, seeing who he was referring to. 

An Illyrian male stepped out of the shadow of the blacksmith building, giving Enar a small smirk before looking her way. Everything about him screamed of  _ wrongness,  _ but she forced herself to look past that, staring at the man in front of them, who was missing a shirt, flashing them both with a sweat-slicked, chiseled profile. He was handsome, but somehow cold and hard, and Nesta recognized the same thing in herself in his own sharp facial features, instantly repelled. Still, she willed down her response, waiting to see how the kind, gentler male at her side knew this rigid, formal, and very powerful stranger.

“I work here, Enar. I took over for Fredrick a few weeks back, when his wife was close to birth. The babe came early, weakened her, and he needed the aide. And who’s this?” He murmured, after giving Enar explanation, his dark eyes fastened on her face. She didn’t miss how they slid down, inspecting her form with interest, flashing her a faint smile, making her realize the scar that tugged at the left half of his face.

Enar frowned, opening his mouth to say something, but Nesta stepped forward, reaching into her coat pocket. She didn’t need a man to speak for her - not now, not  _ ever _ \- and handed him the envelope. “I’m here to commission your services. Spymaster Azriel has specified what he wants, which is enclosed in this…”

The man reached out, moving past the envelope, to take her wrist, pulling her forward. She couldn’t resist, his grip too strong, and briefly that power inside her pulsed in warning. Something about this man was very  _ off _ , and for once, she was grateful for that power, giving him an arctic glare of her own. He smiled, flashing her a row of perfect, straight white teeth, but for some reason, the expression seemed to be a warning of hidden fangs in an otherwise charming face.

“You know the Spymaster? Of High Lord Rhysand’s Inner Circle, do you? And the General? Lord Cassian? Do you know him as well, pretty thing?” He purred, setting her pulse on edge, as his fingers stroked the exposed skin of her wrist.

She wanted nothing more than to topple those bricks in her mind, unleash just a  _ taste _ of that power she had access to, not liking his tone or his insinuations or the way he touched her like he could own her, if he wished. Instead, she placed her free hand on his chest and gently pushed, watching as he snagged the envelope and released her, his eyes never leaving hers - hard, steady, hungry.

“Who I know and don’t know have nothing to do with the work I’m requesting. Remember your  _ place _ , Blacksmith, and do the work asked of you. Read the note and if you have questions,  _ take them up with the Spymaster himself. _ Understood?” 

His stare turned sharp as his smile deepened, turning feral. “I like you,” he replied, before lowering his gaze and opening the envelope, pocketing the coin and reading through the specs that Azriel had left. Ignoring Enar altogether, he glanced once more towards her as he pocketed the instructions. “Interesting demands for a sword. I can make it, shouldn't be a problem. I’ll bring it by when it's complete. Where are you staying?”

“That’s not necessary,” she started to say, but he stepped forward again, cutting her off and snagging her wrist, bringing it up to his lips and dropping a chaste kiss there. She arched a single eyebrow, feeling nothing, keeping her expression stonily cold. If he was wanting to tick her off, he had succeeded.

“ _ I insist,  _ if I’m to take the commission. No one else here is familiar with the sword process your Spymaster requires. The sword is for you, I take it? Learning to fight?” He asked, overriding her words. She frowned then, not liking the heated gleam that entered his eyes as he tried to step forward again, but that time, Enar intervened, stepping forward and placing a hand on her shoulder, forcibly removing the Blacksmith’s hand from her wrist.

“She’s staying at the cabin by the training ring, the…” Enar started, only for the man’s sharp tone to interrupt him.

“Cassian’s cabin?” He glowered, his eyes narrowing on her. She notched her chin up and nodded and she could have sworn, for the briefest of moments, sheer unadulterated rage suffused his face. “I see. I need two weeks, to gather the material, to forge the blade, to test it and make sure it’s adequate. I’ll be by once it’s done.”

“Very well,” Enar frowned, him and Nesta both watching as the male turned, then stalked back into the blacksmith shop, abruptly ending their conversation.

“Your friend is very odd,” She commented as they began the walk back towards the cabin and the training she was to join.

“He’s not my friend,” Enar mumbled darkly, refusing to meet her stare when she looked back his way.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll throw a little bit of a trigger warning up on this chapter. It gets a little dark in training but it serves a purpose to show how strong Nesta is, despite her deep flaws.

“Think you should eat again, you’ll need the energy,” Enar muttered at her side, as they both huffed together in the chilly morning air as they walked up the steep include towards the cabin once more, the mountain air thin and harsh on the lungs. Nesta frowned, looking his way, and he gestured to her figure. “Not much, or it’ll make you sick, but I’m  _ telling you,  _ a moderately full belly will make all the difference in your endurance this afternoon. You’re still a wee thing. Until you build muscle or gain weight, you need it.”

“Alright,” she replied, as they neared the cabin. “Join me, then.” Like before, it wasn’t a request, and she heard him grunt and follow alongside her into the cabin once more, where she tugged off her coat, scarf and gloves and set to work in the kitchen preparing their next meal. This time, he didn’t stray near the table, simply staring out the window, his eyes on alert. She didn’t bother asking what was on his mind - he had that look Cassian sometimes wore, when something was eating at him but he didn’t want to share - and she knew if she asked, he wouldn’t give her the truth. Instead, for the the next several minutes she simply focused on making the food he suggested.

Their meal was terse quiet one, Enar still being sullen and quiet after their return from the blacksmith. When she tried getting him to talk, he kept his answers to monosyllabic responses and she simply gave up after that, curtly telling him if he wasn’t up for conversation, he could take his meal outside. She’d prepared simple fare like he asked for - sandwiches of cured meat, cheese, and coarse ground mustard on dry, uneven rye bread, a side of sweet pickles and nuts along with hot spiced cider - and he had shocked her by grabbing his meal and stalking out the front door, nearly slamming it as he left. 

Staring at the spot he’d just been sitting in, Nesta sighed and picked at her food, slumping briefly in her seat, able to once more feel comfortable enough to melt the icy expression she wore in public. Brief snippets of her sisters came to her then, reminding her yet again how unfriendly and arctic she was, even to those who meant her the best. 

_ Sometimes, Nesta, I wish you were born a mute. _

_ Can’t you say  _ **_one single nice thing to me?_ ** _ What’s your problem? _

_ I didn’t  _ **_ask_ ** _ you to be here for me, Feyre and Rhysand have been helping. Go back to your apartment. _

_ If that’s how you’re going to act, I’d simply rather not see you. _

_ Sometimes, Nesta,  _ **_I hate you._ **

She’d never admit how much those words hurt, too used to her comfortable mask to scream at them and break down in tears. She was  _ Nesta fucking Archeron, _ and she did not  _ cry _ \- even when some days that’s all she wanted to do.

“It doesn’t mean your words don’t hurt me, though,” she whispered to no one in particular, and forced herself to eat the rest of her food in silence.

* * *

 

By the time they both returned to the training ring, Devlon was handing out bokkens, shouting terse orders to the women gathered. Nesta noted with brief dismay that there was even less women this time than the day before, seven at most. Giving Enar a brief stare to stay put, he nodded and leaned against the rail to the training circle, giving her a brief mutter of good luck as she stepped inside, approaching.

The crunch of snow underneath her boots drew Devlon’s attention her way and the smirk he cast her had her wondering if he was impressed or annoyed at her returned presence. She arched an eyebrow, reaching out with an open hand, waiting for him to place a bokken in her fist before she took her place amongst the other women in the ring.

“Came back after all, did ya, Fairy Princess?” Devlon sneered, slamming a bokken down in her hand hard enough to sting. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know it hurt like hell, stinging the inside of her palm, as her fingers gripped the wooden sword and she tugged it to her side, keeping her expression one of glacial patience.

“It’s Nesta,” she replied, moving to stand in the empty space next to one of the smaller, more graceful looking Illyrian women. She was shorter than the others, her features more refined, but Nesta could tell she would be quick on her feet and something of a challenge for her with her own clumsy slow movements. The woman, who Nesta could tell wasn’t a favorite amongst the others, gave her a slight nod.  _ Two outsiders, then,  _ she thought, giving the woman a brief nod in return, before looking Devlon’s way again.

He was staring at her, his grim expression reflecting anger now more than amusement, and Nesta felt the pit of her stomach drop in wariness, but again refused to let it outwardly affect her. Arching her eyebrow again, she waited until he grunted, turning away, looking over the other women with a more approving stare. 

“Let’s begin,” he called out, pairing everyone off into partners, gesturing that Nesta join with the woman she’d briefly noticed before. “You two rejects belong to each other,” he smirked, making the other women burst out into brief giggles as they looked towards Nesta and her new sparring partner. Infuriated on the woman’s behalf, not nearly as moved for her own, she narrowed her eyes at each in turn, then flashed the trainer a sharp-toothed smile, one that cut the small amount of giggles still floating about the training ring into silence.

Devlon’s frown grew as he stared back, not liking her silent challenge for what it was, but Nesta knew there was little he could do about it - not with Cassian’s orders and her guard watching. Instead, he turned, dismissing her and her partner entirely, addressing the group as a whole. “Today we work on defensive techniques. I’ve paired  _ most _ of you,” his eyes flickered towards Nesta and her partner with distaste, eliciting another burst of giggles from the group that died when Devlon’s eyes swept once more around the ring, “with partners that are more skilled in the opposite of what you can do. One of you will do everything in your power to hit the other, head on. The other, it’s your job to deflect, maybe even push back, earn a hit of your own. The  _ objective  _ is to learn to think on your toes, see what your body tells you is right from wrong. There are no rules, no wrong moves today, I simply want to see what I have to work with, now that you know some basics. It’s not much, I’m aware, but I’m less interested in your knowledge and more on your innate defensive and offensive capabilities. Begin.”

Nesta turned, watching the Illyrian woman she was paired with shift her way, ruffle her dark leathery wings for a moment, then bring them in tight against her frame. Squaring her shoulders, she motioned for her to start, choosing the stance she wanted to take, and the woman nodded, instantly launching forward - so fast, it nearly startled her - making Nesta drop hastily to one knee and bring her bokken up quickly to avoid a strike aimed at her temple.

Grunting in surprise - the woman was a  _ lot _  stronger than she looked - she rolled back, ignoring the wet shock of cold against her back as snow clung to her coat, dodging the woman’s successive blows - one after another after  _ another. _ The Illyrian frowned, then opened her wings, taking flight a few feet of the ground and spinning, making Nesta nearly crawl like a crab to get out of her way as she once more swung - again and again - this time the bokken slamming into her shoulders, the sides of her chest, and her knees, despite Nesta’s best attempts to block.

“Get off the ground! Gain some momentum! Take out her wings!” Shouted Enar from the sidelines, quickly stifled by a furious roar from Devlon.

“No influencing the matches, you bastard! Shut your mouth or ‘else I’ll remove you from the area!”

Still, she began to see what he meant as the woman kept coming. Her wings, while strong, flapped to a very specific rhythm, and if she timed it just so, she’d catch her open, clip one of her wings mid-spread, and hopefully be able to land a blow or two before the woman could retaliate. 

Grunting again as the Illyrian female smirked, swooping down for another slam of her bokken against Nesta’s screaming ribs, she took her chance, seeing an opening, lashing up quick and fast from the ground, long enough to slam the blunt rounded side of her bokken into one of the extended right wing’s joints, hitting it perfectly. The woman yelped, her wing crumpling, and as she crashed to the ground, Nesta swerved, slamming the end of her bokken into the woman’s solar plexus. 

That was all it took to watch the woman let out a shriek of pain and crumple to the ground, the wind knocked out of her. It didn’t completely take her out of the game, so she hung back, wooden sword ready and knees locked, but when the woman continued to cough and retch, trying to catch her breath, she relaxed.

Devlon’s whistle had all the other groups falling silent as he stalked over. “What’d you do?” He asked, his tone lethal as he looked over the Illyrian female who remained slumped over, holding her hands against her chest.

Nesta frowned. “You said no rules, to use--”

Devlon snapped his fingers, forcing the others go to back to sparring, and Nesta watched him lean down, tug up the woman’s shirt to see the spreading bruise at the center of her chest, before scowling her way. She felt immediate guilt for what she’d done, casting her eyes briefly Enar’s way, but he smiled, giving her a faint thumb’s up. Perplexed at the difference between him and the trainer, she looked back as Devlon murmured something to the woman, watching her nod and stand, hobble away, only for Devlon to take her bokken and turn, facing her.

“You and me this time, Fairy Princess. Since you’re all  _ fancy  _ with your moves now,” he growled, and immediately went into a readied stance. Nesta frowned, looking briefly back at the other women, who were attacking each other with vicious animalistic precision, various welts, bruises, and broken bleeding skin already apparent. She swallowed, keeping Devlon in the corner of her eye, knowing she had signed up for this, and drew her bokken up, attempting to drop into a defensive measure when he attacked.

The blows were much stronger than anything she’d ever encountered before - even on that battlefield with Hybern. In fact, as Devlon swung, moving out of range of her deflecting swings, his face seemed to take on that of the long-dead King - his grin stretched,  far too wide to be one made by a  human or fae, more like a monster - and before she knew it,  _ everything hurt.  _ Still, he didn’t stop, kept coming, and she tried as much as she could to stop the blows - but failed each time. Once more, those condescending voices of her sisters and various strangers she overheard in the bars she visited back in Velaris came repeating into her head, ringing loudly with each vicious snap of the wooden sword against her body. Each time she heard them, they tore just as badly as the trainer's agonizing blows, tearing her self-worth and strength to shreds.

_ Nesta, you’re such a  _ **_fucking bitch sometimes._ **

_ Here comes the Ice Queen! Watch out, don’t look her in the eyes, she’ll steal your soul! _

_ What does Cass even  _ **_see_ ** _ in you? No pussy is worth  _ **_that_ ** _ level of effort. _

_ I bet she’s like fucking a dead fish. Say, wanna bet I can get into her pants? _

_ Why are you like this, Nesta? After everything I’ve done for you - this family, this court - has done for you?  _ **_Why can’t you just be normal?_ **

It didn’t register to her that the training camp had fallen silent, that all the woman now stood, staring, horror on their faces, as Devlon kept attacking - blow after blow after blow - but she  _ refused  _ to yield, slowly standing each time she fell to her knees or on her face -  knees wobbling, head spinning, inches from vomiting up the meal her guard had insisted on her stuffing down before she joined the fight - glaring at the male in front of her that look outraged that she just wouldn’t say she was done. 

“I will  _ never _ yield - not to  _ you _ , not to that  _ dead King _ , not to that  _ fucking cauldron _ ,” she hissed, raising her bokken, finally stopping his last blow before turning and throwing everything she had into her latest parry, slamming Devlon clear in the jaw, splitting his lip, taking satisfaction in watching a burst of blood spill down his face. "No one, _you understand?_ I yield to _no one_. Never again, _never again_." His head snapped back and he staggered as she panted, wheezing, staring at him with cold fury in her eyes. “You’ll need to knock me out cold before I stop getting up. Is  _ this  _ what your lesson was supposed to be? Beating us senseless, to see if we had the  _ balls  _ like your men to just take it? Well,  _ bring it on,  _ you fucking prick. I am  _ not  _ kneeling to  _ you. _ ”

“You stupid, stuck up little High Fae bitch, you come into  _ my _ camp, try and show  _ my _ people that you’re better, why I’ll --” He raised the bokken as she dropped hers, staring at him coldly, daring him to beat her with it when suddenly a flurry of shadows burst into the cold clearing, covering both him and her from the others.

Azriel stepped forward, out of the shadows, the expression on his face downright terrifying. When his gaze flickered over her, she was thankful she had so much of her concentration devoted to remaining standing - otherwise she would have flinched. His eyes shifted towards Devlon and for a moment, it looked like the shadows drew daggers across the male’s throat, making him swallow and back up a pace. “You’re done for the day, Devlon. Pack up and send the women home - and if ever hear about another lesson like  _ this  _ one again, it’ll be the  _ last  _ you ever do.”

Dropping his bokken, knowing well enough that the Spymaster outweighed him in sparring knowledge, power, and skill - he muttered something under his breath and turned, the shadows dissipating with it. As Devlon shouted at the woman to call it a day, Nesta took a few tentative steps forward, her mouth tightening with pain during each one.

Instantly, Azriel was at her side. “Let me transport you,” he murmured, but she shook her head.

“No,” she murmured, glancing his way, keeping her expression cold and distant, then let her eyes wander around the training ring. “Not now. Not here. I admit, I might need some help into the bath once we're inside, however, but not here.”

Azriel’s eyes shifted as hers did and he nodded, noting the crowd they’d gathered. It seemed, during Nesta’s sparring battle with Devlon, several other Illyrian males and females had wandered closer to the ring, wanting to watch the High Fae and the Illyrian face off. “Very well,” he finally murmured, glancing her way. “I see your point. I’ll see you in the house.”

With that - he winnowed away back into the shadows, leaving her standing alone in the ring, walking slowly, pronouncing each step with care so she didn’t show how badly her injuries hurt, feeling all the calculated eyes on her back. She let none of her agony show - keeping her back straight, her eyes facing forward - boldly meeting the looks of any who had the audacity to meet her gaze as she moved seemingly with ease. The men looked annoyed, perhaps a few furious, but the women smiled back, nodding their heads in approval before turning away.

Enar was running a hand over his face in worry, a savage frown on his face, as she neared him. “Fucking  _ hell,  _ Miss Nesta, I’m sorry, I didn’t think it’d go that far, I should’ve--”

“You did nothing wrong,” Nesta murmured to him when he fell in step beside her after she refused to take his offered shoulder, refusing to show weakness now, not after how far she’d already come. “There was nothing you could have done, you had no idea I’d provoke him that way. I’ll let you in on a secret, I seem to do that with everyone, even General Cassian -  _ especially General Cassian -  _ so what’s one more male, one more village to hate me in the long run of things?”

She meant it as a joke, briefly chuckling, inwardly wincing at the flare of white hot pain that lanced her ribs as she reacted, but the thoughtful frown the male at her side sent her had her quieting and rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry about it, Enar, I can handle it.”

“You ain’t so bad,” He commented, surprising her. That time - with so much pain flaring underneath her skin - she couldn’t help but give him a subdued look of surprise. He smiled, shrugging, then they both looked up as the woman she’d been sparring with earlier came up.

She was back to sorts, her warm chocolate eyes large and concerned as she ran a hand through long dark locks, kept close to her head with long, elegantly done braids in small rows. She was beautiful for an Illyrian - most being more sharp-edged and large as a product of their culture - but not her. She was soft, curved in most places men found appealing, and despite her looks - a rather quick fighter, just apparently open to some weaknesses, as Nesta had found out.

“Dear me, I can’t believe he did that! I’m sorry, I don’t know what….” The woman paused, sensing Nesta was about to tell her to stop apologizing as her lips thinned, that arctic mask slipping back into place, but she pushed on, falling into step alongside them both. “...I’m a skilled healer back in the camp I came from. We’re here for training and my brother’s helping with some of the backlog of work in the village. Mind if I help you? You know, dress your wounds? Probably best I do it anyways, given you’re unmarried. Er, sorry -- I’m Astra, I might be a bit nosy for my own good. Anyways, please let me help, I feel partially responsible when he took over when I couldn’t participate, and --”

“Yes,  _ fine _ , just - _S_ _ top. Talking _ .” Nesta grit out, feeling Asta’s whisper-soft pleas pound inside her skull, sending her headache into near unmanageable levels. The woman instantly fell silent, wincing as she flashed her a smile, then her wings ruffled as she took flight - hovering in mid-air - then made an excuse that she’d be back with her herb tinctures, taking to the skies.

Sighing wearily, Nesta finally took the proffered hand of Enar as she struggled with the steps up to the front door, barely registering his raw curse as he dropped her hand again. “ _ What the HELL?” _

The door jerked open, Azriel standing there frowning at the two of them, but by then, Nesta had seen what the commotion was about - watching as Azriel stared between them both, then cast his eyes towards the door.

There, embedded in the wood, was a set of bloodied bat wings spiked through by a dagger, no doubt meant to symbolize an Illyrian’s wings. Tacked with the wings and the blade was a parchment, with bold black letters carved out in ink with a clear message that everyone could read.

**YOUR FATHER SHOULD HAVE KILLED YOU IN THE WOMB.  YOU’RE NO GENERAL OF ILLYRIA. YOU'RE GOING TO DIE SOON.**

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purpose of my story - I’m modeling the Illyrians after Vikings, who had multiple wives. You’ll see that used here. Since we don’t have a ton to go off of according to their culture, I’m inserting my own assumptions here.
> 
> Tossing some teases of my Tamlin fic in here - so if you’re confused what I mean, just shout out in the comments (or better yet, give it a read if you like! It's located [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15335886)).

 

For the second time, he flashed a slow smile, using his softest tone to request an audience, but before he could even halfway announce his appeal, it was cut off - kindly, with a gentle sort of censorship, but still clearly a rebuke - by the female he faced at the doorstep to the war chief’s residence.

“We’re fine here, General. We don’t need anymore trouble. Please don’t call again, we don’t wish to inconvenience you,” The soft-spoken Illyrian female murmured, not raising her gaze to meet his eyes, then quietly closing the door in his face before he could think of something to snag her attention, the soft click of the latch engaging like a thunderous echo inside his head.

Closing his eyes, he suppressed a sigh, refusing to give any outward indication. _Tell me, dear Frú, would you say the same thing if male eyes weren’t on you_?

Nothing but silence met his internal question.

Willing down the frustration he felt at her dismissal, despite the clear look of fear and panic that had been obvious in her stance, he turned, staring as three other Illyrian males looked his way from the open streets of the camp square, having no doubt that they had been listening to the entire conversation he’d attempted to start with one of the war chief’s many wives. As he met their stares head on he knew that somehow, these men scared her - so much that she wouldn’t even let him get more than a few syllables in at best. Frankly, he was surprised she'd even been willing to open the door, with the way they were staring at him now. He flashed them a brief smile - more like a grimace, really - as he moved towards the village square and the trio that appraised his movements as he walked.

One of the three had the sense to look wary, perhaps afraid, of him. _So, not all of you are complete imbeciles, it seems. Good._

“Sorry you came all this way for no reason, General,” drolled one of the men, giving Cassian a smug satisfied grin as he tugged his cloak closer, stepping into the village square, past the wooden fence the male in question was leaning against.

“We’re a close-knit community, you see,” the male continued, as Cassian observed him. _Young, cocky, motor-mouthed...probably one of the war chief’s sons by one of his older wives._ He immediately hated the male, seeing the familiar look of sexism and entitlement in the way his eyes gleamed while he spoke. His fists clenched and he felt his siphons spark to life, but let the male prattle on, letting him think he wasn’t goading him. The one from before - the wary one - canted his eyes down, going sharp as soon as they caught the flicker of power in Cassian’s fist siphons. The war chief’s son didn’t even register it, and Cassian wanted to snort in laughter. _And they say half-breeds or bastards are the dumb ones…_

“We handle our own issues here,” He heard the male saying again, turning his full attention back to the male who continued to show off for his friends, and the small crowd they’d begun to gather. Cassian grit his teeth - wanting nothing more than to plow his fists into the younger male’s leering face - but all that would accomplish is further driving a wedge between him and his people. Part of him didn’t care - but a large part of him did, and he _hated_ it. Zeroing in his gaze at the male in front of him, he watched as the male continued on. “We don’t need outsiders coming here, interfering. You’ll still see us when you call on us, don’t you worry. We still pledge to your High Lord and armies, General. Where it matters in war, we’re there, all of us men are.”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed at the word the male used - _men_ \- and knew instinctively in his gut, despite the woman not willing to confirm it, that they were still treated as second-class citizens here, barely a step above property. He also knew that their women didn’t report for training - despite being one of the few villages up north with a significant female population. The men here liked _options -_ which meant that the war chief here approved the men to have multiple wives, as infidelity was treated severely as a crime in most of Illyria once a male was claimed, to ensure the women couldn’t object to the marriage and thus the claim on the property willed to her husband from her father with little interference. To alleviate the men’s issues with such laws - something that even the males here were wary to change, they were so old - some war chiefs, like the one that ruled this village, allowed males to claim as many women as they liked. As long as children were produced and the woman not hysterical at the alliance, it was allowed. It was a practice that Cassian detested, scanning the camp as the male in front of him crossed his arms and stared, waiting for his reply. Thinking of his mother, of all the supposed _rules_ to help their women - a term he could barely spit out, even in his own head - he looked back at briefly nodded at the arrogant male in front of him.

“I’m beginning to see that,” Cassian drawled in response, with what he hoped was the dripping sarcasm he felt inside. _Your village and your women are content my ass,_ his thoughts snarled. _You’re an embarrassment to the word male in every way, you little cretin. If half your fucking village wasn’t staring at me right now, I’d rip that tongue out of your mouth and force feed it to you so people didn’t have to hear your rants of entitlement ever again._

Without anyone willing to come forward, however, change would inevitably never happen, at least not now. Inwardly sighing, he knew that anything he pushed here with force would be met with hostility - from both the men and the women. The men from the insinuation that they were somehow lesser and needed a woman to fight, and the women because they were too afraid to throw off the shackles of their masters if their rebellion didn’t carry enough merit to create actual change.

It was his dream that one day, there would never again be a need for women like his mother. Forced to be an outcast, eventually killed, just for choosing to love someone and protect them at all costs, despite being unmarried and with child. That’s what he told himself, when he finally heard stories of his mother; of how, no matter how much the clansmen beat her, she wouldn’t name the father of her child, even when threatened with death. As he saw a shadow shift at the window of the home he’d just left, slanting his eyes to stare briefly at a young Illyrian girl staring at him with sadness in her eyes, he felt nothing but rage as he smiled tightly once more at the male who’d addressed him and nodded again as if he agreed. _Was it worth it, mother? Dying for that kind of love? Did he even love you? Or did he just love what you let him do to you?_ As his eyes met the girl’s in the window, he suppressed the fury he felt once more, but his siphons gleamed all that brighter. _Forgetting you, what about_ **_them?_ ** _What about all the women like you that still face the same insane ‘rules?’_

“In any event, please speak to your father and have him write me the number of female participants against his female population by month’s end, if you don’t mind,” he suddenly demanded, palming the hilt of his sword as he watched a flicker of surprise - then anger - flash across the male’s face, speaking for the girl watching him from that window. He grinned, knowing the male hadn’t expected him to peg him for what he was - a coddled, entitled, waste of a male whose only significance seemed to be that he had the luck of calling his father war chief. “For records, that is. The mortal lands below are divided, at best, and the High Lord expects his armies ready - _all of them._ ”

“My _father?_ You know my father is--” The male started, then stopped, watching as Cassian smirked. His face instantly went thunderous and the male started to move towards him, only for the wary one at his side that had been paying attention to Cassian’s slowly kindling rage grab his elbow and hold him back, sending Cassian a dark look before glancing towards his friend.

“Jeric, no,” murmured his friend - the tone low, almost too soft to carry - but Cassian heard it all the same. “He’s too strong. Look at his siphons.”

That embarrassed his friend - sending a dusky red into his cheeks, his dark eyes slanting half-closed as he stared, rage painting his face into murderous mask - but Cassian noticed he didn’t move forward, flashing the younger male a grin full of white teeth.

“Smart friend you’ve got, Jeric.” He murmured back, looking around the camp. “Speaking of - you boys heard of a traveler? One sprouting treason? Dangerous thing, that…” He canted his head to the side, watching their reactions.

The male - now named Jeric, thanks to his friend at his side - shifted briefly on their feet. The one who’d warned him, grabbed his friend’s elbow, frowned and seemed more tense than the others, so he chose to focus on him. “What about _you_ , hm? Since you’re clearly the most level-headed of the group, seen or heard anything I should know of?”

The male looked torn between the loyalty towards his friends or answering a demand from Rhysand’s General, struggling to open his mouth, only for Jeric to step forward just as he was about to speak - his eyes narrowed, face still contorted in rage - despite knowing Cassian would best him if he tried to start a fight. “We ain’t got _nothing_ for you, General. _Go home_.” With that, he brushed past him, and Cassian grunted as the others plowed into his shoulder, doing their best to make him stagger. Even Jeric’s friend did this, but this time - Cassian felt something being shoved in his palm. His fingers clenched tight and he cast the male a measured stare - it was a wadded piece of parchment.

“ _Go home,_ like Jeric said,” muttered the friend. “You’re just causing trouble.” He then moved past him, and Cassian forced himself to appear thrown off his balance, to hide the fact that the male had actually helped him and to give him something to recover from, knowing once he was gone, his ‘friends’ would no doubt feel threatened that he’d picked up on Cassian’s anger before they had. He heard Jeric’s laugh and grit his teeth - playing the look of the slighted male - then took to the skies shortly thereafter.

 _Thank you, little one,_ he thought to himself as he shoved the wadded note in his pocket, intending to read it later.

 

* * *

The other camps fared worse than the first he had visited - barely able to get any females to talk to him. He was met with outright hostility by the war chiefs and those who supported them, only avoiding outright fist fights by the older males who were smart enough to not risk the wrath of the High Lord they all knew to be powerful enough to wipe their village off the map if he was so inclined. It chafed Cassian, knowing it was Rhysand they feared, not him - not really - only remembering how lethal he and the Spymaster were when they were sparring or in the midst of battle, their status as bastards always outweighing their achievements.

The rumors, though, kept persisting. The males, furious that they’d been called to a battle intending to be fought as they’d been trained, only to be wiped out by hordes of magic that they could never overcome, had been stirred recently by visiting travelers, spreading word of distrust and mismanaged leadership. Cassian’s presence, followed by the constant threat of what Rhysand was to the Hewn City, were the only things that kept them in check - _for now_.

 _We’re running out of time,_ he thought dismally, as he took to the skies once more, watching as half a dozen warriors stared at him as he flew out of sight. _If we lose their trust, their faith…_

He didn’t bother finishing the thought. The Night Court and especially Illyria had been rocked by the war against Hybern - the Illyrian warriors so unused to such excessive use of magic - and their confidence had been badly damaged because of it. Rather than requesting guiding leadership, changing with the world around them that was doing so at an alarming rate, they blamed their leaders, Rhysand and him and the others of the Inner Circle, not that Cassian could fault them for it, despite all the other numerous cultural problems his people faced. Countless males had died needlessly in that battle, but if they didn’t see the _real_ threat coming - the Mortal Lands below, ones with magic so powerful, even Azriel hadn’t been able to breach it. Illyria needed _change,_ desperately, but so many feared the loss of their culture, their traditions, that they lashed out at those who meant them the best, clinging to the wrong things at the wrong time, spelling doom for not only their people, but also the Night Court as a whole.

Cursing, he shifted course, veering towards the cabin and the woman he now shared it with, grimacing as he realized how much he was now fighting a battle on two fronts - one with his people and their stubborn resistance to change and one with _her_ , the one female he couldn’t let go, despite her protests of the latter. Thinking back to last night, and many, many other nights as well, when his thoughts ran rampant and he couldn’t help it - jacking off at the idea of being inside her - he once more felt fury and shame well up inside him. _I may lose the respect of my people, Nesta Archeron, but I’m not losing_ **_you._ ** _You’re mine and I’m not letting you go,_ his thoughts snarled like steel from a part of himself he rarely showed many people. _I won’t let you go,_ **_ever._ ** _We both know why, don’t we? It’s because--because you’re my--_

Once again, he refused to finish the thought, instead dropping low, using the focus of avoiding trees that sprouted out of the dark forests below to banish that line of thinking before it continued to the conclusion he feared most.

* * *

Hours later, he was finally back home and damned glad of it. Fighting his wayward thoughts and feeling every rebuttal he’d faced today like a sing on his skin had left him with an exhaustion that was bone-deep. Shifting his wings close, shivering in the arctic winds that battered at what seemed his very soul, he inched closer to the heated cabin, his hazel eyes turning sharp at the prospect  of seeing _her_ \- in any way she’d let him - making his steps quick, only to be immediately stilled when he heard his friend’s voice at his side, and felt the tell-tale kiss of shadow against his wingspan.

“Cass.”

Canting his head to the side, he stared as Azriel stepped forward, his expression grim. Blinking, not expecting such a serious look, he frowned and turned as Azriel brushed past his initial greeting. “Dinner’s delayed. Come with me to the House of Wind. _Now._ ”

Immediately, he tensed, only hearing Azriel use that tone when something was serious. Cassian turned, narrowing his eyes, still feeling the vestiges of pent up and angry - at the failed meetings with the northern camps, at the thoughts of Nesta floating in his head - but his friend sounded sharper than usual, more lethal, and Cassian sloughed off the brief flicker of annoyance at the delay in seeing Nesta. He didn’t focus on why seeing her would soothe him so much, knowing again he wouldn’t like the answer.

“What happened?” He asked, his eyes narrowing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the guard he’d hired standing inside the gathering room, eyes on full alert, but no where did he see Nesta. Suddenly, he wondered if she was harmed while he was gone and while Azriel had been in Velaris on his order, stocking the cabin they shared, and the the sudden rage he felt startled him with its intensity. Even his siphons responded, sparking to life, the stones crackling with unspent power. “ _Where is she?_ ”

“Nesta is resting,” Azriel replied coolly. “Enar will stay and guard her. Take my hand, the others are waiting on us.”

Cassian blinked, staring as he saw the seriousness in Azriel’s eyes. _Rhys and the others even showed? What the hell is going on?_

He immediately held out his hand - watching Azriel reach out and take it before shadows exploded outwards, enveloping them both in utter darkness. He felt Azriel’s power ripple then - tearing them across time and space, something that unnerved him -  reminding him of that time he’d met that living nightmare in the pit of the Night Court’s library, suppressing a shudder as he still struggled to recollect all of what he saw that day. Just as quickly as Azriel’s power erupted around them, it dissipated, dissolving to mist on the wind, leaving Azriel and him standing in one of the council rooms banked by tables and chairs at the House of Wind that Rhysand used for official business regarding the Night Court.

Rhysand and Feyre looked up from something they’d been observing, hidden within a box on the table they sat at. Cassian turned towards them as Azriel began to walk over, gesturing for Cassian to take a chair as he leaned against the far wall. He didn’t see Mor or Amren anywhere in sight. “What’s going on? Where’s Mor and Amren?” He asked, shifting his gaze between all three of them.

“Mor is visiting Jurien, Vassa, and Lucien,” Rhysand replied, “...making sure that Shula and Tamlin keep their promises of supporting their efforts to monitor the Mortal Lands. Amren is at Summer Court, visiting Varian.”

Cassian’s eyebrows shot up at where he mentioned Morrigan was, but Feyre’s look of grim concern had him stilling once more. Azriel, as always, remained mostly quiet, as she leaned forward, sliding the box towards him. “Azriel and the others found this on your door this afternoon,” she murmured.

Blinking, he looked down, then growled at the note and memento left for him. “Sweet,” he replied sarcastically, glancing up at the others, who stared at him with mixed expressions of concern, wariness, and displeasure. “So I’m not liked -- tell me something I _don’t know,_ guys. Who found it?”

“My sister did, and her guard,” Feyre murmured, watching him with those sharp intelligent eyes that had no doubt made Rhysand fall head over heads for her as he struggled to reign in his temper, knowing she wouldn’t miss the flare of his nostrils or the gleam of his siphons once more being sparked to life.

“They left it where _she would find it?”_ He growled softly, his words practically feral. _I’m going to find this fucker and kill him - slowly._ “Is she alright?” He slanted his eyes towards Azriel, who merely nodded.

“It’ll take a lot more than bloodied bat wings and a death threat to startle my sister,” Feyre replied, a hint of both anger and amusement in her tone. Rhysand’s eyes and lips narrowed and Cassian could tell the effort it took for his friend not to comment on what Feyre said, probably with something a lot worse than her off-handed remark. The anger he felt on her behalf startled him and he knew they sensed it as his wings briefly flared before settling tightly once more against his back while he took the brief silence to stare at the note once more. He didn’t recognize the handwriting, nor the dagger that had been used to no doubt tack the bat wings to whatever they’d been nailed against, still feeling fury that Nesta had to see it.

"She's tough," he replied, sliding past the small flicker of disdain that Feyre's tone carried. It bothered him now, how accustomed they'd all become, of lumping insults when speaking of her, and tried his best to say it without directly addressing it. "I imagine you're right, that she's fine. She's strong."

Feyre blinked, seemingly getting the hidden warning of his words, but Rhysand merely rolled his eyes, missing the point entirely. As Cassian briefly looked Azriel's way before turning his eyes to the note, he caught the Spymaster's faint smile. He knew, like Cassian did, of the length in which she'd gone to show herself as inhuman, despite suspecting that she felt things very deeply.

"I don't recognize the penmanship," he replied, sliding it back towards them both. "Do you?"

With all the words insinuated, he suddenly found himself remembering one of his first meetings with her after their initial encounter, when he'd been delivering messages on behalf of Rhysand to the Mortal Queens who would converse with him at all. It was back when she’d still been all lush curves and fully human, recounting her barbed words and the way she’d rolled _‘bastard’_ off her tongue like a distasteful thing she couldn’t stand to even pronounce. This time, however, the sting that he’d felt that day didn’t register -- now he knew better. He knew she used the words to bait him, mostly to protect herself, rather than actually meaning to harm him. It was also the same day he’d learned her first experience with men had been far from pleasant -- now only followed by strings of lovers who still hadn’t taught her how magical lovemaking could be. _I’ll be fixing that -- very, very soon. Don’t worry._

Glancing up, he noted the others watched him and shook their heads at his question, waiting for him to say something to fill the silence. He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat as well as his thoughts, and shrugged. “I’ve been surveying the northern clans, trying to hit most of the isolated communities. They’re what I figured would be our hardest to reach, both geographically as the winter sets in and mentally. They’ve made it _explicitly clear_ to me they don’t intend to give up what they consider their right to do - not without a fight. A death threat is hardly surprising, given that. Anyone could have written this.”

Rhysand frowned, clearly not liking what Cassian said. “How have you addressed your concerns with them?”

Cassian blinked, gaping at Rhysand, feeling fury sizzle under his veins - fast and persistent. He  had been going out there for weeks, only breaking his routine to fetch Nesta when Feyre and the others insisted she be removed from her lifestyle before it was too late, something he would have gladly done twice over now. Still, the words stung, and he balked. “Are you suggesting I handled it _badly,_ Rhys? _Seriously?_ ”

Rhysand’s eyes narrowed and Cassian glared back, feeling Rhysand briefly shift to curb his powers that threatened to rumble past them both, blanketing the room - knowing he’d struck a nerve - but so had his best friend. Yes, Cassian knew he was a little arrogant and heavy-handed at times, but his heart was in the right place, and sometimes - _this especially_ \- called for such things. “What _exactly_ are you saying, Rhys? Spit it out.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea you investigate this on your own,” Rhys murmured, making Cassian stiffen but say nothing in response. He couldn’t, knowing what Rhysand said was logical, but it still hurt all the same, insinuating that he couldn’t handle such a heavy task under his own wingspan. “I’m not suggesting that you can’t--” Rhysand started, stopping when Cassian held up a hand.

“Fine, who are you suggesting? Az? You? _Feyre?_ Mor and Amren aren’t here, you’re leading a damned Court, and Feyre is…” He trailed off, flicking his gaze Feyre’s way, watching color creep into her cheeks, but her sharp eyes easily met his level gaze, but he wouldn’t apologize for admitting aloud what everyone suspected but just wouldn’t say. “When’s the babe due, My Lady?”

He felt Rhys’ power ripple darkly around the room, but Feyre gently clasped his wrist. “Rhys, _stop._ ” Nearly immediately, the dark rumbling power ceased, but Rhysand looked positively feral as his violet eyes gleamed - with lust, love, something Cassian couldn’t even begin to label - as he looked towards his mate with a slow nod. He grimaced, knowing he was pushing _all_ the wrong buttons so far this morning and proving his leige and best friend right, beginning to dismally realize with sinking suspicion if Rhysand wasn’t entirely wrong in his suggestion. It made him feel wreckless and useless and he cleared his throat to shift off the unforgiving emotions.

“We’ll discuss the babe when we discuss how we’re going to formally announce it. The babe can wait. We’re all a little tense right now. This situation in Illyria is…” Feyre started, glancing back towards Cassian, who blinked, having not expected her to confirm his suspicions, sitting back in his seat, watching out of the corner of his eye as Azriel slipped into his own finally, after that bombshell hit his ears. “...stressful. The timing of their discord is horrible, we know, and Cass -- you _know_ how much we value you and everything you do. We’re _not_ doubting your tactics or work, just that you open your mind to other ways to gain what you need. It will only be so long before the Mortal Queens retaliate at some point. Tell me about your meetings with the chieftains thus far.”

Just like that - he was calm, feeling like a shit heel for lashing out at his best friend. When he looked Rhysand’s way, he could tell the male felt the same, but waved off the apology Rhysand had no doubt been about to spill when he’d begun to open his mouth, giving Feyre a grateful smile. “Somehow, you’re good at calming this bunch. Thank you.”

She merely smiled and he launched into what he knew of so far. “Most up north aren’t allowing their women to join in the training. I’ve tried getting the women to speak up, tell me what they think, but they clam up, mostly because the males won’t let them out of their sight. I haven’t been able to get them alone long enough to hear the unvarnished truth out of them. Some, though, I can tell want change. They hover at the windows, listening in.” He rubbed a hand through his shoulder length hair before continuing, not daring to meet Rhysand’s gaze. “The clans, as a _whole?_ They’re restless and their confidence is shattered since the war and it makes them edgy and prone to lashing out, just shy of becoming _really_ dangerous if we tread too hard, which is why I don’t push too hard when I visit. The first sign I get of protest, which is pretty quick, I leave. They’re angry we brought them down South, facing Hyrbern’s use of the cauldron. They think we didn’t prepare them properly.”

Hearing Rhysand’s hiss at those words, Cassian finally looked his way, seeing his expression torn between fury and torment. He knew all too well how personally Rhys took harm on any of his people - even those ignorant, backward-thinking remote clans in the northernmost sections of Illyria - catching Rhys’ gaze with his own as he leaned forward. “Hey, _listen --_ Yeah, we didn’t prepare them. That’s true,” he started, watching Rhysand bristle, but he held up a hand again, his tone going softer but no less powerful. “But name one other court who could have, Rhys. _No one_ has ever fought the fucking cauldron before, man. It would’ve been a bloodbath, no matter whose army was leading the front. You just got the shit end of the deal being the one with the most bodies to throw at the problem. It’s easier for them to blame you rather than use the painful lesson for what it should be - a way to _change, improve on fucking something,_ even if it means giving a blade to any man, woman, or child who wants to learn to fight. They’re a godsdamned Illyrian, it’s their blood right. There’s been a traveler -- some sources say one, some say more than one -- that’s been fueling these concerns that we’re not suitable to command them. Sadly, they’re listening. I figure if we stop that, we stop the main source of the problem. The rest, we’ll have to handle with time and delicacy.”

Rhysand went still as Azriel nodded, the shadows as his sides seemingly more agitated than normal. “He’s right, Rhys. The Illyrians don’t handle fear and discomfort well. We know this intimately. Sadly, we’re going to have to push for that change a lot faster than they’re currently willing to allow. My spies have heard rumors of more of the Mortal Lands moving to push an attack on Prythian as a whole.”

Cassian blinked, looking Azriel’s way, remembering he’d been with Lucien and Tamlin who had gone South, to fetch the Spring Lord’s mate when she’d been taken by the Mortal Queen’s at Beron’s bidding. _I still fucking hate that guy,_ his thoughts growled, glancing back towards Feyre to see how she handled it. He still remembered when he’d been teaching her how to punch into the pads he’d held, as she thought back to how helpless Tamlin had allowed her to feel, furious that Rhysand had left the male standing. He understood _why,_ but it didn’t mean he liked it. In fact, if he was allowed his way, he’d have left the fool in power perhaps - but not before castrating him. The way he thought - Tamlin could still rule, even as a Eunuch.

The thought made him smirk.

“The mortals have something they call...alchemists,” Azriel supplied, drawing Cassian back into the conversation as he enlightened them to what he’d witnessed when he’d ventured down South. “They’re eager to learn our magic for their own uses.”

Cassian scoffed, even as Rhysand drew eerily silent, his eyes narrowing. Feyre frowned, looking surprised. “What would they want with our magic?”

Azriel, for his part, was clearly not amused, cutting Cassian a look so sharp he paused and blinked. “Do _not_ joke about this, Cass. Not this.” He looked back to Rhysand as Cassian swallowed, fidgeting in his seat, debating if he should apologize. Azriel saved him the trouble by continuing.

“The Mortal Queens employ them, a sort of magician, for lack of a better term, to maintain their shields - something we can’t penetrate. When I helped Tamlin, they’d been close to figuring out what turned Shula into one of us, not unlike Feyre or her sisters. If they gain that knowledge…”

“ _Sweet fucking cauldron_ ,” Rhysand swore, slamming his fist down on the table, scorching a good portion of the wood in the process. Feyre swallowed, her eyes going wide. “That can’t happen,” she murmured towards Azriel, who merely nodded. Cassian just stared, speechless.

 _Holy fuck,_ his thoughts echoed in his head. _If we’re not ready, and they come, gaining that kind of power...it'll be Hybern all over again. They could ---_

Rhysand spoke, his tone every inch of the High Lord he’d earned the right to be called, through blood, sweat and tears. Cassian and Azriel both sat up sharply in their seats. “Right. We _cannot_ afford a civil war - not now.”

His eyes flickered between the two of them. “Az will help you scout the camps, look for this traveler and his friends. When you find him, bring him to me. I want to be part of that conversation, see how far this weed has grown. There might be more we need to handle than just them. I don't care what it takes, _find them._ As for the women, we need them. The best way, sadly, is to get them away from the men who are causing the problem, but only the ones strong enough to want to leave on their own. Right now, we’re not giving them a place to go, even if they wanted to leave. If they felt safe, felt they had somewhere to go, some place to support them until they established themselves, they might feel moved enough to force the change they want themselves. What can you supply in that regard?”

Cassian blinked, shocked he hadn’t thought of that. _That’s -- damn -- that’s a great idea. Why didn’t I think of that?_

Rhysand smirked, glancing towards Feyre, who smiled back. “That last one, that wasn’t me. Thank her for that one.”

Cassian swung his gaze to Feyre, who merely smiled but leaned down, grabbing something from a leather pouch that had been tucked beneath the table, surprising them all - even Rhysand, by the look in his eyes as he glanced at the parchments she sat on the table - one after another, side by side. Cassian’s eyes dropped and his eyes bugged as he looked up sharply in shock.

On the table was the location and blueprints of a newly constructed village - in an area of the surrounding Illyrian forests that previously hadn’t been used. It was detailed, constructed well, and had everything they needed to be self-sufficient and protect them against the elements - and any unwanted intruders if stationed correctly.

“I figured you boys would take to the idea well, so I hope you don’t mind I had this built while you were all busy," Feyre murmured, hiding a smile as they continued to read over the documents. "It’s all ready to go, and close enough to Velaris that the merchants there will supply whatever materials they need. I selected only those who need the surplus income, so it won’t be a burden to those already overwhelmed.”

The look in Rhysand’s eyes made Cassian and Azriel shift uncomfortably in their seats. Scooping up the documents, they made quick work for the door, ushering out any servants they spotted on the way. Whenever Feyre let that intelligence of hers work, it wouldn’t be long before Rhysand would be barking they get the hell out so he could ravish his mate, figuring they'd beat him to the punch this time.

Once down the hall and halfway across the building, making sure it was fully deserted, they began to feel the ripples of Rhysand’s power being let loose. Making a face, really not wanting to hear his friend roar in orgasm no matter how much he wished his friend a healthy, loving relationship with his mate, he opened his wings once he tucked the parchments in his belt, about to take flight - when Azriel stopped him.

"I'm going to gather a few things before I head back, the armor smith is nearly done with her dressings I requested. But, Cass, you should know that…” Azriel started, making Cassian go prenaturally still, his pulse roaring in his ears at hearing the hesitation in the Spymaster’s voice.

He narrowed his eyes, feeling his siphons gleam. _“Tell me.”_

Azriel frowned. “Nesta  was beaten most severely in her training today. A woman from her group, Astra, is tending to her. Don’t be surprised, though, if you insist on seeing her, when you see--”

 _“Who. Did. It?”_ He grit out, feeling a rage so keen, he was surprised his siphons didn’t shatter - seeing the room heat up with a red glow as he paced closer to his friend.

Azriel frowned. “I stopped it. I don’t think he’s dumb enough to start it again. In any event, it’s _she_ who needs you, not--”

 _“WHO FUCKING DID IT!?”_ Cassian roared, slamming his fist so hard into the rock wall beside their head that it cracked under the brunt force of his blow.

Azriel frowned. “Devlon.”

He didn’t even hear what else Azriel was about to say, immediately taking flight, heading towards the cabin at a pace so fast, the world beneath him blurred into a smear of black and brown.

* * *

Everything _hurt_. It was a dull ache, thanks to her newest acquaintance, but she still had to watch how fast she shifted, otherwise a zing of brief agony would accompany the rash movement.

Nesta hissed as she peeled out of her clothes, her movements slightly off-kilter as she stripped down to her skin, pleased at how well the herb tincture the woman - Astra - had given her before heading home blunted the sharp edge of most of her pain as she undressed.

Enar, for his part, never left the front door, warding the rest of the house with his siphon power. Only one - unlike Cassian, who gleamed like a red constellation in the sky when they were all lit at once - but it was enough to keep her safe as she undressed, intending to take another ice bath.

The poultice Astra had given her wasn’t quite like being drunk, but it was close. She felt pleasantly warm, her thoughts as well as her sight slightly hazy, but it dulled the pain and left something almost euphoric in its wake. She smiled, humming faintly in pleasure, as she moved her hands over her body, casting a fuzzy-eyed gaze to the floor length mirror in her room. After the woman had run her fingers over her limbs and ribs hours before - noting in a relieved tone that nothing broken, merely bad sprains, perhaps a hairline fracture or two - she ordered  her to take two steaming mugs of the poultrice she handed her, twice daily, until she felt able to move without pain.

Astra had hovered, staring her with a sharp mannerism that oddly reminded her of Feyre without all the accompanying anger that usually came with such an act, talking about her own life back in a village up north, as she’d been forced to choke down the whole steaming brew while she watched.

Astra was beautiful and had been promised to a chieftain’s son, but she’d run away. At night, under the cover of darkness, she’d followed her brother down South and joined Devlon’s training camp, and by the time her brother had found her, it was too late. The war chief, furious and feeling cuckolded, wouldn’t honor the marriage claim as before. As Astra explained her brother’s fury - and no doubt the beatings that followed that went unsaid - Nesta couldn’t help but notice the gleam of satisfaction in the woman’s eye.

“Good for you,” Nesta had replied, grinning faintly, something she would never do if in her right mind, giving into the urge under the lure of the medicine, however. “Taking what you wanted and not apologizing for it. Never lose that, no matter how much people try to tell you that you should. Listen to your _heart,_ even if it marches to a different tune than anyone else’s. People won't like you for it, but that's their problem, not yours.” She had continued on, her tone slightly slurred - watching as Astra smiled back, nodding slowly. She blinked, embarrassed and more than a little horrified at what she’d said, pulling back, reaching for that expressionless mask she always wore, but Astra had petted her hand, leaning forward to whisper back.

“Likewise, Miss Nesta. _Never_ lose that, ever. No matter what those pig-headed men say. I’ll hold you to that promise if you hold me to it. _Deal?_ ”

Clearly, whatever poultice Astra had fed her had rattled her wits, because she nodded, clasping the woman’s hand with a faint smile. “I...agree,” she murmured, her head rolling back, eyes half closing, as she sank onto her bed with Astra’s guidance. “ _Fffuck_ , what’d you give me? It’s... _amazing_.”

“Some poppy milk, amongst other things. Don’t take more than I told you, but it’ll  help,” Astra chuckled, before grabbing the items she had brought back with her. “I’ll see you in the next few days. I’d still come to training, if you could, but make sure to partner with me, no matter how much he pushes otherwise. I’ll make sure the others take it easy on you.”

“I’ve...never had a friend before,” Nesta whispered on a whim, hearing Astra still by the door. "It's...not unpleasant." Her eyes fluttered closed, lost to the sensations of the poultice, but she was able to make out the woman’s murmur of response.

“Me either, so that makes two of us. Goodnight.”

She had dozed before she even heard the door to her bedroom click shut.

That had been hours ago and now, as she undressed, softly muttering at her own stupidity for delaying her ice bath - knowing the bruises would be harsh, having time to fester, rather than being immediately treated - she grabbed a robe, wrapping it around her, and heading towards the hall. _At least this time, I’m high as a damned kite,_ her thoughts rumbled in amusement, still chasing that euphoric feeling, making her smile. _Maybe this time I won’t be such a sniveling bitch when I dunk my head in._

The door slammed open and Cassian stood there, his chest heaving, siphons gleaming so brightly they outshone the candles in her room, casting the room in a faint red haze. She blinked, tilting her head up, giving him a confused stare - too high on that euphoric substance to wonder for long what had him in such an uproar - as he stared back.

“I heard what happened,” He rasped, seemingly realizing that his siphons were casting a demonic glow in the room, tugging off his bracers and leather cuirass. “Let me see the damage.”

She shrugged at his greeting, trying to glide past him. Cassian shifted, blocking her exit, his gaze more sharp than she’d ever seen them before - like dark chips of stone in his thunderous expression. “Nesta, _for cauldron’s sake,_ please don’t fight me on this. _Please._ Let me see the damage.”

“Then I suggest getting out of my way and taking a bath with me,” she murmured, watching shock flicker across his face. Her words were still slurred and she smiled, feeling so good for once, that she didn’t even bother with the mask, leaning in. “We _do_ still have a tub, right? Or did you have a shower put in already?”

“The hell is wrong with you? Are you _drunk?_ ” He hissed, his face turning dark, thinking she’d disobeyed one of his ground rules. She merely laughed, shaking her head, leaning forward and inhaling his scent. He blinked, stiffening, but she noticed he didn’t move away. _You like that, don’t you? Seeing that I desire you? Why are we doing this stupid cat and mouse shit with each other again?_ Her drugged thoughts began to wonder.

“Nope, poppy milk. From my friend, Astra. Ask Enar if you doubt me. She helped make sure nothing was broken...after.” She murmured, flattening herself against his side. She sighed when he gently curled an arm around her waist, as he if wanted to keep her close, and she pretended to ignore the shudder that rippled through his frame as his eyes focused on her mouth.

At the mention of the word _‘after’_ he once more went rigid, that rage that had aroused her returning. His hand began to fall from her hip and he turned, intending to march down the hall, no doubt to beat Devlon senseless, and part of her liked that - knowing he’d retaliate so violently on her behalf - but she stopped him, curling her fingers against the ridge of his bicep.

“I thought you wanted to see the damage? To see _me?_ I admit, I’m rather disgusting now, having no curves, barely any tits, thanks to the booze and little food, but if you leave now, you’ll miss--” She murmured, feeling that sober part of herself, buried deep, shrieking in horror at the words tumbling from her mouth, but he turned so sharply, it surprised her, making her nearly stumble as he grabbed her free wrist, bringing it to his groin.

Underneath his leather brais and the trace of her fingertips, was every hard tense inch of him.

“Does _that_ feel like you disgust me?” He rasped, pulling her closer, being gentle in his touches, knowing she was injured. She stood there, shocked, as he ground his hips into her hand, letting her feel every movement of his arousal beneath her soft grip. He groaned, his eyes closing briefly, before he pulled back, bringing his face close to hers. “You have _no idea_ what I think of you, Nesta Archeron. You’ve never bothered to ask.”

“So tell me,” she murmured boldly, finding that _right now_ , she really wanted to know. He stared, his eyes dropping, focusing once more on her mouth, and she swallowed, wanting him to kiss her so badly right then, her womb clenched, weeping for a sign of _anything_ he’d be willing to give her.

He didn’t respond, simply pulling back and gently guiding her into the bathroom, closing the door behind them. She swallowed, watching as he moved past her, to the tub that was still there for now, admiring his back as he kneeled and began to run a bath.

“Make it cold, at least at first. For my…” She gestured to herself and saw him nod and adjust the spigots.

She felt that sober side of her struggling for control, now that she’d begun to register what she had asked of him - to bathe with her, wash her, see all that she’d endured today - but most of her mind was too distracted studying his tense profile and rehashing how it felt to have her fingers brushing against the most intimate part of him - remembering how it had felt knowing he was erect, because of _her._

“Have you ever imagined...us? _Together?_ ” She blurted out, curious. She watched him tense and stand, before looking back her way. She swallowed, but met his gaze evenly, wanting to hear his answer. Later, once the drugged-sense of euphoria was gone, she’d chastise herself for the questions, but for now, she just went with it. She wasn’t so far gone that she’d regret the words or fail to remember them later, and used the situation to ask things she’d always wanted to know.

It took him several seconds to respond, watching as his jaw flexed as he began to undress, gesturing at her to do the same. She frowned, her hand reaching for the tassel of her robe, but she stopped, glaring at him, determined to hear his answer before she disrobed and most likely ruined the moment with the state of her body.

“I haven’t had a lover since the war, since you kissed me,” he hoarsely murmured, his face darkening as he looked over her, his eyes almost black. “I’ve jacked off to the idea of fucking you more times than I can count.”

Nesta blinked in surprise, unfastening the tassel as he kicked off his boots, brais, and everything else, standing in front of her completely bare, large leather wings rustling. She swallowed, refusing to look down, knowing as soon as her robe came off, he wouldn’t want _that_ from her anyways.

She didn’t tear her eyes off his face as she let the robe drop, watching his eyes lower, face flickering in shock and fury. She closed  her eyes, wincing, moving to shield herself, but he had managed to stalk across the room before she could cover her breasts or sex. “I’m going to rip Devlon’s fucking head off,” he hissed, his tone so guttural, she barely recognized it. She blinked, her eyes snapping up to meet his, as his murderous expression looked over her myriad of bruises before pulling back to look up in her face. “I’m afraid to lift you, even drugged as you are. Let me help you into the bath?”

“You’re not disgusted?” She asked, but moved with him, stepping into the tub and sinking in with ease, smiling and closing her eyes, despite the frigid temperature, only blinking in surprise as she felt him join her, sloshing water in the tub as he tugged her gently between his knees, and began rubbing a scented oil over her back - liniment oil, the same that Azriel had brought to her rooms the other day.

“ _Cauldron, no,_ I’m not disgusted,” Cassian murmured from behind her, his calloused-roughened fingers strong but gentle, as they soothed over the worst of her bruises. “You’re underweight, yes, but no, I’m _far_ from disgusted.”

Just to horrify or shock her, she felt his hips shift, that hardness still there, pressing against the soft cleft of her backside. She gasped, tensing, hearing his soft chuckle as he worked his hands down her spine before asking for one of her arms. She obliged, still not ready to face him just yet. “If I can maintain a hard on for you like that in this freezing ass water, _trust me,_ I’m not disgusted.”

She did turn her head then, looking at him as he rubbed that oil into her skin. The wintergreen extracts of the oil tincture tingled with the cold, making her shiver, her nipples beading. He stared at that too, his eyes growing heated, even as he kept his tone clinical, commanding she turn, so he could rub the tincture over her stomach and legs. She did, resting her hands on his shoulders, watching as he stared, doing everything in his power to avoid touching her in a sexual way. Her eyes drifted down, seeing his cock hard, tense, like the rest of him as he worked.

She realized that, due to her addled nature or the state of her bruised body, he wasn’t being his typical, cocksure self. He was being kind, selfless, just the type of behavior that had rattled her so much the day before. Perhaps she was using the herbs as an excuse for what she asked next, but she still did it - she still wanted to know.

“Cassian, would you mind if I kissed you?”

His head jerked up, eyes sharp, as they met hers. She stared, giving some fire to her gaze as she looked back, letting him know despite her words being too lilted to show she was completely sober, she meant them.

“You’re not yourself,” He reminded her, but she felt his fingers flex at her hips.

She scowled, leaning forward, watching him shudder as his cock nudged against her stomach. “Not so much that I don’t know what I’m asking.”

“But enough that you’ll use it as an excuse for why you’re letting me touch you, or I allowed the kiss to occur, once it wears off in the morning,” he spat back, nostrils flaring as she neared. He wanted this, she could tell, but she also could tell her barb from months past, when she’d thrown the term bastard in his face, had embedded deep.

“Only one way to find out,” she whispered, then closed the gap between their mouths before he could object further.

 _Just let me kiss you,_ she thought, euphoria pounding hard in her veins, as she tilted her head, feeling him go stiff for a fraction of a second, then groan and respond, taking her mouth deep, unraveling a bit of the leash on his control as he furiously demanded more, startling and arousing her.

Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, even as his raised, a roughened knuckle brushing past her right nipple, enough to make her gasp so his tongue could sink in her mouth and demand her own, both fists clutching the back of her head as he took command of the kiss.

It felt _amazing._ There were no words for how right it felt, what it did to her - making her body ache at the absence of his, feeling his own body spurred to a similar response as he nudged his hips closer to hers. She dropped one of her hands then, wrapping it around his length, marveling at the size, not remembering any of her past lovers being quite so large, making him hiss and grunt, pulling back to stare at her, sharp blades of color under his cheekbones.

She licked her lips and began to pump him. “I--want to feel what it’s like, when you--” She started, but didn’t get to finish, as he lunged forward, taking her mouth again with his own, his hips flexing, moving with her hand, and she felt the ache so tightly in her womb she shuddered.

His kisses drugged her, more heavily than the poppy milk ever could have, but the noises he made as he began to lose control, feeling his gentle thrusts against her clasping fingers stutter out of control, nearly had her peaking all on her own. He shocked her when one of his own hands reached down, teasing her folds, finding that tight bud and pinching and twisting, and together, their mouths ate up both their cries as they both shuddered and stilled, violently thrust over the cliff of their arousal, spasming against one another in climax.

She didn’t miss the soft kicks of his cock in her grip, feeling each spurt that clouded into the bath as he groaned hoarsely against her lips, and he no doubt missed her body shuddering in completion, feeling her channel clamp and pulse against two fingers that he’d slipped inside her once she began to whimper against his mouth.

 _I’ve completely lost my fucking mind,_ she thought, as she sagged against him briefly, feeling something stir - inside her, inside _him_ , between them _both -_ but backpedaled in the bath before it latched onto them both, slipping away before she could focus on what it was. She was afraid she’d gone too far, eyes wide, as she stared. _Wait, what was that?_

Cassian, to her surprise, look equally shocked and frightened. “What the fuck was that?” She whispered, her voice peppered with rubbery words, even to her own ears.

“Nothing,” he murmured, reaching for her. She tried to stumble from the bath, but her body protested the movement, and she fell weakly into his arms as he stood.

“Hey, _shhh,_ it’s alright. I won’t hurt you. _Ever._ You know that, right? I’d rather cut off my own arm than hurt you. Just let me help you to bed, we’ll….talk about it in the morning.” He murmured in her ear, making her shiver for another reason outside of cold. His words held such promise for a perfect, trusting fall, but she was just too afraid to take the leap of faith they required. She felt the euphoria she’d felt for hours before slowly begin to fade, but she owed it to him to not pull away and prove him right. He’d said she would regret it. She did, but not for the reasons he thought.

“Alright,” she finally murmured, going slack in his grip. He clearly hadn’t expected that, tensing for a moment, until he pulled her from the bath and began to dry her. She looked up, seeing his expression tight and closed off, reaching up and cupping his jaw.

“Sleep beside me tonight.”

It wasn’t a request, and he nodded, glancing her way. She let him help her into the bed in her room, curling up against her side. Neither bothered to dress, they’d already seen it all, touched it all, so it seemed superfluous now. As he tugged the sheets close, she tensed then relaxed as she watched him open his wings, just enough to cocoon them both inside, then tersely heard him mutter in her ear to sleep.

For once, she didn’t fight him, falling asleep in his arms.


	10. Chapter 10

When the morning rose to greet her, so did her sobriety and the magnitude of what she’d done the night before. She grimaced briefly, wary to move, feeling deep-seated soreness in every limb of her body, now that the poppy milk had worn off. Beside her, he slept on, one hand strewn over her hip, calloused fingers tickling the curve of her hip, one large dark leathery wing cast over them both, shielding her from most of the sunlight streaming through the thin curtains at her window and the coldness beyond.

She listened to his cadence of breathing to confirm he hadn't waken when she had before she glanced over her shoulder, seeing his face unlined - smooth and almost boyishly handsome - in sleep. She blinked, surprised to see such utter contentment there. She hadn’t expected that, figuring the slightest movement on her part would wake him.

Briefly, that power stirred, the longer she stared. Swallowing, she closed her eyes, counted to one hundred, and even though it pained her, layered those bricks strong. She was going to have to wake him soon, get dressed, and get something to eat. If her instincts were right, Astra would be by soon before training started, to check on her and make sure the poultice she gave her was working.

Suddenly, she sensed it, glancing back his way, even though he slept on undisturbed. It was a power, something she couldn’t quite name, that pulsed beneath his skin, calling to that thing curled up inside her chest, that began to pace softly, testing the layers she’d just cast. She remembered that Feyre once told her that Cassian was one of the most powerful Illyrian warriors to ever live, besides Azriel and Rhysand. She'd seen them all glowing, those numerous siphons, but had been so focused on surviving in battle, hadn't seen them at play.  Curious as to how it worked, her eyes caught one of his bracers, laying on the bedside table. She blinked, not remembering it being there before, wondering if he’d woken up briefly during the night and placed it there. She reached for it, bringing it close, unsure of how it worked. Did he need it attached to his skin, or merely close?

Soon, she had her answer. When it came close to his skin, but not quite touching, it pulsed red - bright, like a beacon. For some reason, it held her rapt attention, and she felt that sizzle of power inside her creep up past a crack in her defenses, coaxing her to touch the gleaming stone - so she did. She couldn't explain why she did, just that it felt right, and for once, that power didn't terrify her in its intensity, merely coaxing, a small sliver teasing her, begging her to use it. As her fingertips touched the red pulsing stone, they shone faintly blue, then turned purple where they melded with the glow of the stone. She gasped, feeling an arc between the stone and herself, that power taking whatever Cassian had and channeling it into herself. Almost immediately, that same sensation as before with the plant held her in place, frozen in disbelief as she felt worst of her bruises began to fade once more. She didn't even bother looking down, knowing what she'd see.

Part of her rejoiced that - for once - nothing harmful happened. His skin wasn't blackened, his body appeared unharmed, and his power eagerly returned, the stone flaring to life once more, where it had briefly dulled while she touched it.

In her shock, the bracer fell from her fingers, bluntly hitting him in the chest. He frowned, blinking slowly, his eyes opening, staring straight into her face from where she had been leaning over him when the unthinkable had happened. Luckily, she’d had time to scramble back quickly - thrust up that internal wall and her useful expressionless mask she always used - before his eyes clashed with hers.

“Good morning,” he rumbled, in a decidedly sexy tone. She felt his wing shift, curling back, exposing them both to the sun and the cold. She shivered, watching his lips twitch as she leaned closer, tugging the blankets that he had seemed to hog overnight in their sleep. She arched an eyebrow, knowing what he’d done was deliberate, resolutely remaining silent, still at a loss for how to greet him after last night.

“No sarcastic comments this morning?” He asked, rolling to a sitting position as she remained in the bed, buried under the covers. He yawned, stretching his torso and wings, and she couldn’t resist running her eyes over him in a curious stare, seeing the rippling cords of muscle in his back and chest. His sex, that one part she wanted to see above all else, remained hidden in the muscled curve of his thighs. Before he looked back her way, she’d forced her gaze back to his face. 

“No,” was all she replied, making him arch an eyebrow with a briefly amused smile. Still, she said nothing - not moving, not blinking, staring at him with that mask she always wore. This time, luckily, he didn't seem bothered by it, almost amused. 

Suddenly, she remembered that sensation from last night, right as they’d climaxed together. Pausing, biting back the urge to frown in front of him,  determined not to let him see the nervousness that she felt, she tried to make sense of what exactly that had been. It had frightened her - able to  _ sense him  _ inside her and part of herself inside  _ him -  _ and she opened her mouth to say such, when he suddenly leaned forward, eyes sharply focused on her shoulder.

Without another word, he ripped the sheets off her, making her stiffen in shock. His next words had her freezing. “The _fuck?_ ”

Looking down, she saw that her bruises had faded to mere yellow marks. When his eyes slanted back towards hers, she shrugged a shoulder, having no logical way to explain it, not without letting him in on what she’d done before he woke, stealing some of his power.

“How do you feel? I’ve...never seen anything like this in my life. You should be black and blue.” His tone was sharp, probing, and brokered no arguments, much like the strength in his gaze as he looked her over once more. She didn’t miss how his eyes strayed to her breasts longer than necessary, but he was using that same clinical detachment he’d used the night before - before she had asked if she could kiss him. She wasn't sure if it infuriated or relieved her, knowing he wouldn't touch her anytime soon.

“Sufficiently recovered to train today,” she replied, sitting up, intending to brush past him. She was surprised at how well her body responded, only feeling faint twinges in her muscles, not the agonizing scream that she’d felt before she'd used that power to drain his siphon of its stored power. Remembering Astra’s instructions, she decided only half a mug of the brew was in order before she ate and took up the dagger toss in the gathering room that Azriel had set up for her. For once, she was desperate to get outside - seek out the woman who’d helped her, and see the look in Devlon’s eye when she showed up to training in remarkably decent condition, considering yesterday’s end.

“ _ Stop, _ ” He barked, making her bristle but heed to his command. She felt his firm grip on her shoulder before she turned her head, narrowing her eyes his way. 

The amount of fury and barely-contained lethalness staring back at her nearly had her mask slipping, that odd power in her pulsing briefly, responding to the darker side of his personality. Still, he stared at her, lowering his eyes over her form before letting them travel back up to her face, his expression stoic and furious. “ _ If you think for one minute _  I’m going to allow that bastard to train you, after what he did, you’re  _ sorely mistak _ \--”

“You’re neither my husband nor father, Cassian,” Nesta interrupted, livid at his words, despite feeling that power inside her respond to his tone. “What I do, you have  _ no _ say over. You said nothing about training when we arrived, only drinking and fucking,” She spat back, absolutely furious that after one tough lesson, he was already making demands once more, telling her what she could and couldn’t do. “You’ve  _ no right _ to dictate to me that I can’t handle it, not after what I’ve been through, after everything I’ve seen and done--”

Cassian’s nostrils flared, anger piercing his eyes, his wings flaring briefly against his back. Gripping her shoulders tighter, he tugged her close, his face mere inches from her. “ _ Stupid wench, _ I’m trying to protect you--”

“ _ From what?”  _ Nesta hissed right back, interrupting him yet again, grey-blue eyes blazing in her otherwise merciless expression as she leaned in closer. “Learning to defend myself? My next beating? Next lover? If you’re trying to save me, Cassian, that ship sailed a  _ long  _ _time ago_ , when that dead bastard threw me in that pit of hell and turned me into a freak.”

Something in Cassian’s eyes shifted, and she almost regretted those words - _almost_ \- but it was the truth. She’d been cast in a sea of darkness, in a place even her mind couldn’t fully recall, not without it threatening to unravel her, and she’d survived, but not without a steep cost. Part of her softened at Cassian’s innate tendencies to protect those he thought needed it, but she needed to make it clear to him that she didn’t need - or want - his protection. She was an island, had become one the moment that cauldron turned her into what she was now with that fragment she’d stolen from it, nestled inside her chest, and she was not about to maroon him there with her.

Slowly, the escalating tension in the room eased, as Cassian’s ire slowly softened, his face becoming resolute, knowing she wouldn’t back down, not now. Still, his nostrils flared when she once more mentioned the woman coming and Devlon. 

“The girl who helped me last night, Astra, should be by soon. She gave me the poppy milk last night, no doubt wants to make sure I’m still alive, so to speak. She’s offered to partner with me, avoid upsetting Devlon, so we can both learn, but I think she’s correct that it’s important I show. Not just for me and her, but the other women. There were eyes there, Cassian, that need to see that we don’t break, just because we’re women and less skilled than the men. She’s from somewhere up north, I’m not sure where, but I’d like to accept her offer, see what I can do with my time here, and…” She paused, staring, as something shifted across his face the longer she spoke. “What?” 

He took a while to respond, emotions she couldn’t distinguish flickering across his face as he stared. The longer he looked, the more aware she became that they were both naked, sitting side by side in her bed. It took a considerable amount of willpower not to let her eyes lower over his form, see if he was beginning to realize, like she did, that they were without clothes, arousal blooming low in her belly. 

“Fine,” he finally replied - tone crisp, still not completely forgiving her earlier harsh interruptions, but enough that she relaxed in degrees - his hazel eyes burrowing into hers. “But if he does anything of the sort again, you’re out - and I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”

Nesta blinked then, her mask slipping, and she noted the way his eyes grew heavy, then veered south.  _ So he does remember,  _ she thought, as his fingers reached up, close to stroking her breast. 

“And as for last night and what happened, I’m going to..” He began, his voice turning husky, plucking at the strings of her core, making her force down a tremble, but yet again, another knock interrupted them just as his hand had nearly come close to testing the weight of her breast in his palm.

Thrusting a cover over them both, Cassian covered her with a wing just as Azriel peered inside. Nesta glared at Cassian, poking her head up from the cover and the curve of his wing, watching as the Spymaster’s eyes glimmered in the faintest hint of mirth before it was gone when he met both their gazes - one annoyed, one expressionless.

“Astra’s here to see you. Enar’s at the door, and the General and I have business to deal with,” he said in way of greeting towards her, giving Cassian a side glance, a knowing look in the droll stare cast his way. Nesta felt him bristle against her, a snarl threatening to rumble past his lips, and for the oddest reason, she reached out, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. He immediately quieted.

“We’ll be out shortly,” She told the Spymaster in no uncertain terms, watching as the Shadow Singer nodded, then closed the door.

Cassian sprung from the bed, reaching for his brais, but Nesta knew, instinctively, it was a bad idea to leave him like this. His movements spoke of anger, frustration, and hurt - that she reacted so coldly to Azriel greeting them in bed together, like it hadn't meant anything. She didn't answer the unspoken question that taunted her in the back of her mind -  _But did it...mean anything?_

As he dressed, she studied his tense frame, noted the way he wouldn't look her way, even when she spoke his name. Something about what Azriel had said, about their work, plucked at her memory. "What kind of work was he referring to?" She asked.

He grunted, snapping the buckles of his boots into place. "Nothing that concerns you."

Nesta felt anger welling up at his brusque answer, but refused to let it show, feeling the tension in the room rise as he continued to dress, slipping one of his bracers on. Knowing he'd need the other, she knelt down, picking up the bracer she’d used earlier in her little curiosity experiment and waited for him to turn.

When he did, a sharp scowl flashing across his features, eyes sharp and nearly completely dressed while she remained completely bare - she held it up for him to see. "Looking for this?" She asked, tilting her head to the side, keeping her expression arctic.

His jaw flexed and he stalked near her, but she pulled it just out of his reach. His face grew furious. “Nesta, now isn’t the time to act like a child, give me my--”

"What work are you doing that results in death threats being stabbed into your door?"

Instantly, he stilled, as if turning to stone. She saw that knowing look in his eye - followed by a wall she couldn't breach. Part of her wanted to scream, curious as to why he was receiving notes like that, having fully intended to ask him before Azriel interrupted their small spat, but knew he wouldn't answer her truthfully.

"Do not concern yourself in my affairs, Nesta. 'Tis not your place," He growled, reaching for the bracer. She stared, seeing he was serious - not sure if it was due to his urge to protect her or not entangle her in Night Court life. In a way, remembering her past behavior, isn't that exactly what she'd pushed for? 

She finally admitted she wanted to know - what he was doing up here in the mountains of Illyria beyond training women, pushing his people for change. Something was wrong, she could sense it, but she'd been too busy drowning in her own problems to notice. Right now, though, he wouldn't tell her - not with that stony willpower in place.

She watched him open his mouth when he failed to get the bracer from her yet again, and decided to rattle him just a little by doing something he didn't expect. Cutting him off with a kiss when he reached for it again as he leaned forward, she tilted her head and opened her mouth, letting a brief sigh of pleasure roll from her as he froze, then responded with interest. H is hands reached for her hips, pulling her close, dragging his tongue across her lips as he palmed her ass, rubbing her hips against his own, where he began to grow firm against her. Unable to help it, she rubbed her chest against his leather curiass, feeling her nipples bead against the small roughened studs of metal shielding embedded in the toughened hide. He cursed, then drew her in deeper.

_Who says I can't admit it, huh?_ Her mind teased him, as the kisses continued. She didn’t, not really, even with her fears of what she was, what that odd thing she’d felt between them was. Hearing a soft groan tear from him, his arousal growing stronger, she pulled back  sharply, dropping the bracer in his hand that fell from her hips before things could escalate, knowing they had visitors down the hall waiting for them. As her eyes met his, she enjoyed the look of color flushing his cheeks, the hot smoldering look in his darkened eyes, his breathing uneven, just like hers was. 

“In case you thought I was afraid of what happened last night,” she replied in her sternest voice, arctic expression sharp, making sure he had no doubt she'd liked what they just did when his eyes lowered to her breasts, seeing her nipples peaked. “I'm not. Now, get to work and let me get dressed.”

With that, she turned, dismissing him entirely and going towards her closet, grabbing suitable garments to train for the day. As she began to dress, her ears picked up on  his sharp breathing, the brief grit of his teeth, then the rustle of leather as he jerked his bracer on, then left, the door softly clicking closed in his wake.

* * *

Arousal, confusion, annoyance, and even a brief flicker of fear coursed through him as he left her to dress. The way she’d kissed him, touched him, felt that stirring between them…

He knew now, why he had craved her so deeply upon first setting eyes on her all those months past.  _ Fuck. I’m so fucked. _

He should have been elated -- instead, he was absolutely fucking terrified. Briefly, he thought of Lucien, and barely suppressed a snarl that tore at his throat. He  _ refused  _ to be like him. She’d see, soon, how good it could be with him. He’d always entertained the idea of fucking her, but now - knowing what he did - he would pursue it with a single-mindedness that she couldn’t resist once things were settled in the camps, if he could even last that long. He’d show her what it was like between them, have her fully submit to him - relinquish some of that tight-gripped control to him - and pray to the cauldron she’d notice and accept that growing coil between them both.

It was either that or spend the rest of his life a miserable, inconsolable loner. His entire being balked at the thought.

Azriel was waiting for him in the gathering room, looking up from where he’d been talking to a small, curvaceous Illyrian female - Nesta’s friend Astra, no doubt - as he walked in, thoughts storming at the revelation that had hit him like a freight train in that tub last night. He ignored the woman, watching his friend stare at her, as she demonstrated a steeping process with the mixture on the table before them, brewing it in some sort of tea kettle. 

“And so, if you prepare the drought this way, with fresh crushed herbs and a hint of dried belladonna, it can…” The woman trailed off, spotting him, and giving him a faint smile. “Oh, hello. You must be General Cassian. I’m Astra.”

“I know,” He commented, giving her a brief nod, glancing towards Azriel. The Spymaster hadn’t even bothered looking his way yet, curiously studying the Illyrian at his side. Briefly, Cassian’s eyebrows raised, watching Azriel finally take note of him, traces of annoyance and frustration buried in his face when he finallly managed to swing his gaze his way, giving a curt nod. 

He hadn’t seen that look since...Mor.

“She’ll be out shortly. Thank you for checking on her last night and tending to her. She’s remarkably recovered. You’re quite skilled,” He continued, just to fill the silence that stretched in the room. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

Astra blushed, shaking her head. “I just offered a pain remedy, General, but I appreciate the compliment. It’s a skill my aunt taught me.”

Cassian frowned, remembering back to how Nesta had looked when he woke, almost halfway recovered from where she should have been, given how severe her injuries were the night before. Either the woman was being modest, or didn’t know her true value as a healer. Either way, he was grateful, intending to press to her that she knew it by day’s end. “Still, I owe you a great deal for being there for her. I’ll repay you for your time and the resources, if you don’t mind. Please, stay for dinner tonight after the training. I’m sure Nesta would like that. She needs a friend.”

Astra smiled, nodding and murmuring her agreement, and Cassian didn’t miss that Azriel’s gaze once more shifted towards her. Clearing his throat, he moved towards the door, pausing at the weapons rack, banding his sword to his side as he waited for Azriel to join him. Azriel murmured something to the woman he didn’t hear, watching her cheeks heat as Enar opened the door, drawing up his shoulders as Cassian passed by him, tersely reminding him to watch Nesta until they returned.

“I mean it,” he told the male, eyes narrowed, as he clamored down the stairs leading to the snow-packed clearing in front of the cabin. “If I come back and she’s beaten like that again, not only am I cleaving Devlon’s head off his shoulders, your face will join his, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Enar hastily replied, color blooming in his cheeks, even as a flash of anger heated in his eyes. He didn’t give a shit if he had insulted the male's ability as a solider, still furious that the male had sat on the sidelines while Nesta had all but been abused in front of the entire village for all to see. Part of him wondered if it was a blow to him, having nothing to do with her, thinking of the note that Rhysand and Feyre had shown him and she asked him about moments ago. Guilt seized his gut, but he still turned, seeing where Devlon was hauling out folded tarps containing the bokkens he favored in training.

Without a thought, still seeing Azriel talking to the woman inside, he shifted his wings open and moved - whistle-fast - slamming into Devlon while his back was turned, sending the male sprawling with an audible pained grunt once he was on him. Satisfaction bloomed, watching the male stumble, only sad it was too early in the morning for anyone beyond Nesta’s guard to bear witness.

“You  _ fucking bastard _ ,” Cassian snarled, eyes dark sockets of fury, as he pinned the older male’s wings underneath him with his boots, leaning down. “You beat girls now?”

_ She’s my mate, dammit, and you hurt her. I want to wear your entrails like a goddamn scarf,  _ his mind blazed, despite not having the muster to speak it out loud. That stirring, when they’d both been staring at each other, mouths close, as they took each other over the edge - what  _ else  _ could it have been but the bond, hinting at what was in store if he got her to let down her walls?

_ And you beat her,  _ his thoughts reminded him, baiting his fury. _Push me, give me reason to end you now - I dare you._ Devlon said nothing, staring resolutely at him with a darkened glare beneath his boots. Leaning down, baring his teeth, he let the man see the full measure of his fury. “Give me _one reason_ why I shouldn’t kill you.”

“Kill me? Over a _high fae_?” Devlon laughed, sending Cassian’s rage into orbit, but he merely stared down at the male. “Why do you care? She’s not claimed by you.”

_ Not yet,  _ his thoughts sparked,  _ but she will be.  _ Devlon continued, oblivious.

“I was teaching her a lesson, but don’t worry, your Spymaster made it quite clear that I’m not to do that again. Nevermind that I did worse to you and him when you were boys, or did you forget?”

“I didn’t forget,” Cassian replied, but pressed the heel of his boot down harder, watching the old man wince at the pressure, a smirk curling at his lips, eyes narrowing in enjoyment watching the male in pain. “But we’re used to such things. They are not. Don’t  _ ever _ use such tactics with the women again, do you understand? Lessons can be completed without pain.”

“I disagree, but like I said, the other one made that clear that I wasn't to do it again,” Devlon grunted, attempting to throw him off with a shove. “So it won't. _Cauldron's wrath,_ Let me up, you prick, before they arrive. I need to finish setting up.”

With that, Cassian moved back, feeling a soft hiss of shadows to his left. Looking over, he saw Azriel finally join him, staring down at the trainer who slowly rolled to a sitting position with a dark gleam in his eyes. Devlon, seeing both of them staring, siphons gleaming, merely glared and got back to work, finishing his prep work for the training about to start within the hour.

Turning to Azriel, Cassian dismissed the male entirely, studying his friend. “Where to first?”

“The northern camps,” he replied, reaching out with his hand. “Then the new camp Feyre built, after we inquire about the women and the traveler. Perhaps, if we’re lucky, we’ll have new occupants before nightfall.”

Cassian grinned, clapping his hand against Azriel’s own. “Sounds like a plan.” With that, they whisked off into shadow.


	11. Chapter 11

The sound of the anvil hitting steel echoed through the village square - a lone, singular sound -  whistling past buildings, only blunted by the surrounding pine trees blanketing the clearing from the town square beyond the large thatched building marked as the Smithy’s Quarters. It was the largest building in the square, showing the power such a position held, what wealth a male could accumulate if they chose the profession. 

Torin swooped down, still hovering close to the treeline, eyes focused on his target, noting no one about this early in the morning - no warm glows from windows except those of the Master Smith’s, always busy with orders in a village like this, amongst a warrior tribe of people like the Illyrians. The note had said to meet here, at the cusp of dawn - so here he was, landing quietly behind the crop of the building’s roof, hearing the hammer’s echoing clang coming to a standstill at his arrival. The absence of the sound was nearly as jarring as it’s continued echo and he grimaced, tugging on an ear to clear the sudden change in pressure as he waited by the pines just outside the Smithy’s residence.

Canting his eyes away, he zeroed in on a specific cabin in the distance and what he knew  would find - his estranged friend, awake and standing guard, his focus turned, away from the section of town he had arrived in just moments before. Trees, a narrow line of sight, and terse instructions to arrive unnoticed had helped, but still he briefly felt pleasure at his friend’s lack of awareness not to notice his approach.  _ You never were as good as I was at scouting, old friend.  _

He snorted, shaking his head at Enar’s blind allegiance to an Inner Circle that had already cost them the life of their friend Gavin not so many months back. The three of them had been close once, as boys, training to the the soldiers they’d become one day - only for Gavin to die agonizingly unprepared on that grassy stretch of mortal land at the southern end of the continent. Torin still woke to the man’s choked requests, his screams as he died, and his wife and son’s mournful tears to ever want to willingly follow the Inner Circle’s command again, but he endured - waiting, hoping, aching for the day he met someone who understood his pain and decided to do something about it when he couldn’t, not without risking Gavin’s loved ones left behind.

As he watched his friend shake off a wave of drowsiness by the bunching of his shoulders he could see in the distance, he reflected once more with a brief sense of outrage at their argument from a few days ago, before his friend had packed a bag and left his own cabin to venture south and stand guard outside the General’s door, all to protect some High Fae bitch that apparently half of Velaris has tasted once that was staying there, if the rumors were true. It was also rumored she was the High Lady’s sister and briefly, Torin wondered if that is why his new found friend had chosen this place to concoct the next phase of his plan. Either way, Enar was in his way - outraged he was willing to betray the memory of their brother so uselessly slaughtered not that long ago - and vowed internally to do whatever it took to set things on the right path going forward.

“You came,” the male rumbled, stepping out from the shadows of the Master Smith’s building, wiping a half-dirtied towel across his bare, chiseled chest. Each time Torin saw him, he was surprised at the massive size and strength of the man, always wondering about who exactly he was, but the male never volunteered information and if he was honest with himself, he was too wary to ask. He was merely a vehicle of change, nothing more, so Torin served him as it served his need to avenge his former friend and set Illyria on a path that honored their soldiers best.

Sweat dripped from him and despite the weather being particularly chilling, he barely seemed to register the cold, steam rising off his overheated body in waves. In one hand, he held a hammer, in the other - a small short sword, too petite to be of use to a man.  _ A child, perhaps?  _ He found himself wondering.  _ But who has children in war camp during Solstice? They usually don’t resume until early Spring... _ He raised an eyebrow curiously, pointing to it, and the man smirked, shrugging a shoulder. “An order is an order, even if it is a waste of good steel.”

Immediately, Torin knew what he implied, still rankled the General demanded their women submit to his torrid demands to train alongside their men, spitting out his next words. “For a  _ woman? _ ”

The male nodded, turning it slightly in his grasp, eyes casting downwards towards the blade. Despite it’s obviously small nature, it was made well, Torin could see that. He briefly let his eyes rest on the male who held it, surprised at his skill, before looking at the slow smirk that tugged at the man’s cruel mouth, the action not quite reaching his eyes. “Yes. Not just any woman, though, but  _ his  _ woman.”

That managed to register a surprise in Torin, his eyes flickering back to the cabin where Enar stood guard. He had known that the High Lady’s supposed sister was there - to do what,  he didn’t know - but it suddenly filled him with both laughter and disgust as he realized what it implied, full circle. “He’s claimed that whore?”

“It seems his sullying ways extend to his choice in women as well,” was all the male supplied with a roll of his shoulders.

Torin said nothing, but couldn’t help the twitch of a smile that teased at his lips as he caught the man’s eye once more. The man grinned ferally, rotating the weapon expertly in his grasp, the blade whistling briefly through the air, sliding the hammer into the open loop at his hip as he did so. “I almost pity the woman, really, so I made the token for her. Best craftsmanship she’ll ever see in her lifetime, I suppose. I’m set to deliver it to her in a few days, being ahead of schedule and all. I’m verily curious what she’s like alone. Show her how to hold it...and maybe a few other things, if you keep your promise and occupy the men. We’ll see.”

Briefly, he heard Enar’s voice in the back of his mind as he watched the male shift his gaze back towards him, the grin widening on his craggy face. It spoke of caution and dismay, reminding him that once upon a time, such a suggestion would have stopped him, not willing to punish a female to insult a male, no matter the grievance - but he squashed it, handing the man a folded parchment from his pocket, replaying Gavin’s dying words in his head instead. “Spoke to a few of the men I can trust. This work for you?”

The man grabbed it and read over the contents scribbled there. Catching his eye, he nodded, giving a faint smirk and a laugh. “Perfect. Be ready in a month’s time. I need to see how much I can rattle his head with that pretty High Fae before we proceed. But do as planned, keep them occupied and away, as long as you can, just so I can place my game pieces just so for the days ahead.”

“Of course,” Torin replied, taking flight, not bothering to look his friend’s way as he took off, keeping his profile low to the forest, away from curious eyes. Inwardly, he told himself he was doing this for Illyria - for his people - but still, Enar’s voice nagged him from the shadows of his mind.

* * *

 

Nesta looked up as she finished running her hands through her slicked-back hair, giving Astra a faint expressionless nod as the woman smiled upon seeing her, brief surprise flickering across her features at the ease in which Nesta moved down the hall, into the gathering room that was half open galley kitchen, half gathering room about the large fireplace against the far back wall. 

“He wasn’t joking, was he?” Astra said by way of greeting, handing her a warmed mug, filled with the same contents she had prescribed her the night before. Nesta stared, about to pass the content of the cup back, but Astra ordered her to drink it with a shake of her head. “I cut down the brew, it shouldn’t affect you as much as it did the other eve, but you’ll still wish you drank it when training begins. Still, though, I’m shocked at your recovery, you don’t even look sore. How do you feel? How are the bruises today?”

“Nearly healed,” she replied starchily, making sure to keep her voice frigid enough the woman didn’t push to examine her. To her surprise, Astra merely nodded, turning to motion towards the kitchen.

"I believe you. Breakfast?"

Watching her move, she couldn’t help but blurt out what had her curious from what she’d witnessed minutes before - her and Azriel, bent together closely, discussing both poisons and healing brews. “You know the Spymaster?”

Astra stiffened, canting her head back sharply to meet Nesta’s gaze, before turning and staring into the kitchen. Nesta didn’t miss the tightening of her fingers into loosely formed fists, or the small tremble in her wings and shoulders, before she moved on, grabbing ingredients to cook - mostly likely in an effort to distract her body from the blunt question. “No, I just met him today. Does he live here, too? With you and General Cassian?”

Nesta frowned at the woman’s profile while she was turned away, watching Astra go through the motions of making the same porridge she had made yesterday. She struggled to understand the sudden avoidance of Astra’s gaze, before she realized it with a faint slam of shock to her senses, forcing herself not to suck in a sharp breath in surprise at the tell-tale signs she was witnessing. “You like him? Azriel?”

Astra’s gaze tilted towards hers, a dangerous glimmer in her hazel eyes. “Like you like the General? Or do you mean something else?”

Nesta immediately locked down, her eyes going cold, but not before she saw Astra turn away, jaw tense, as if Nesta had somehow failed an important first test of friendship. At an impasse, she realized with a panic that she didn’t know quite what to say, only following it with the first thing that came to mind. “Azriel is attentive at the oddest of times, but more animal than man. Be cautious, is all I’m saying.”

Astra glared once more, pausing in what she was measuring out into a saucer, before lowering her eyes over Nesta’s form. As before, she wore the lightest dress she could find, with trousers underneath, but not quite armor yet - still waiting for that to arrive from Velaris along with the rest of what the Spymaster had promised her - but it was the best she could manage for training. “And what of you and the General? I noticed he left  _ your  _ room this morning and was buckling his bracers as he left. Are you bed partners?”

That sent Nesta’s inner wall into a thick layer of ice, her expression completely arctic. “So what if I was?”

Astra sighed, rolling her head on her shoulder as she shook her head once more. “ _ Stop.  _ Please, just... _ stop. _ Can we start over?” After a moment’s hesitation, and a healthy dose of Nesta worrying internally, scrambling to force an apology past her lips that felt completely foreign to her, not quite knowing how to remedy the situation despite wanting to, Astra continued. “Yes, I like the Spymaster. Very much.”

Her admittance surprised Nesta and made her realize Astra was extending her own vulnerabilities first, as a peace offerings of sorts, to soothe the previous few terse minutes that had just occurred.

“Why...do you like him?” Nesta asked, coming up beside her to help measure out their breakfast. By Astra’s glance her way, she’d seen plainly through Nesta’s question - as if she knew, somehow, that Nesta was asking for her own sake, making her inwardly wince and straighten her spine. “That is - nevermind, it’s a stupid question for a stupid inquiry. I don’t care who you like or why, so--”

“I’m not sure, but he’s very handsome. He’s also kind of like a puzzle to me. Sort of like an animal, like you said - a caged one, not quite sure if he’s getting his emotions right - like he’s playing pretend but so desperately wants to get it right. Part of me thinks I can teach him how to know the real ones from the pretend ones. And…” She hesitated, her eyes going unfocused, a soft flush creeping up her cheeks.

“And you wonder what it would be like to fuck him,” Nesta supplied, keeping her gaze level with Astra’s face, watching the woman’s eyes widen before focusing once more on her. Astra finally just grinned after a moment's hesitation, shrugging a shoulder, and for the first time ever - Nesta cracked a small smile as she turned and began pouring the last ingredients of the porridge into the pot to simmer above the fire.

“And you? What of you and General Cassian? Come now, I told you my secret, so its your turn to tell me yours,” Astra murmured, her tone soft and curious, but still demanding all the same. 

Nesta paused, closing her eyes, frowning faintly as she weighed the question in her mind. On the one hand, she hated revealing a weakness, so used to coveting her privacy and holding people at arm’s width. On the other, she knew if she failed to answer Astra, their friendship would freeze and become as brittle as everything else she bottled up or ruined, just like the relationships with her sisters and the Inner Circle that despised her. 

Looking Astra’s way, her conscience finally made itself known.  _ What can it hurt if one person knows how you  _ **_truly_ ** _ feel? Tell her. _

“I…” Nesta paused, swallowing, a flicker of discomfort showing through that mask she always wore, Astra’s expression melting in sympathy. Sighing, she shifted her eyes to the counter, arranging bowls for them both and starting the coffee. “Cassian is...complicated. I hate his arrogance, his cocksure ways, his insistence he knows what’s best for me without ever consulting me - not _once_ \- but the way he touches me, what it does to me, the way I feel, I….”

“Want to shag his ever-loving brains out,” Astra finished succulently for her, making her whip her head Astra’s way, watching the woman grin. Cracking another small smile, she nodded her head, rolling her eyes.

“Yes and...no. I don’t want to make things more complicated between us.” She admitted, looking back down the hall, to her door, and the bed that she knew lay within, still mingled with both their scents, making her tremble briefly as she poured out the grounds into the percolator.

Astra’s eyes followed and she smirked. “So, then, I take it you  _ didn’t _ last night? Otherwise you wouldn’t be this... _tense_.”

Nesta scowled and Astra simply laughed, but she soon found herself smiling, despite the spear of discomfort that plagued her, talking so openly about a desire for the General she’d fought so hard and so long to deny. “No, but I did….um….”

“Wait, you _saw_ it - didn’t you? Oh, give me all the details. I need to know!” Astra gasped, eyes wide, her voice going conspiratorially soft as she leaned in. “Did you touch him? Did he touch you? Did he...satisfy you?”

“Yes, yes, and…. _Gods, yes_ ,” Nesta admitted, closing her eyes, briefly feeling her lips curve upwards into a semblance of a smile when she heard Astra’s giggle.

"You've got to tie that man down soon, just to see what it's like - just once. You've already opened the door, just walk through it," Astra commented, making Nesta feel heat creep along her collar, but by the shameful grin on her friend's face, only chuckled and shook her head.

"Maybe, w'll see," she hedged. "Why - are you going to fuck Azriel?"

"First chance I get," Astra grinned, making Nesta nearly choke on her laughter.

Enar chose that moment to peek his head into the cabin, giving them both a perplexed look when Astra was still struggling to contain her grins and laughter, Nesta’s eyes narrowing in his direction, briefly horrified at the idea he overheard their plans to seduce Rhysand's commanding officers. By his doe-eyed expression, she relaxed, figuring he'd be wearing something different if he'd heard _those_ remarks. “Sorry to interrupt your….ladies chat...but can I get a bowl? Whatever you’re making smells divine and I’m starved. After yesterday’s training fiasco, Cassian would have my head if I took leave of you without a replacement to snag a bite.” 

Pushing his hands together in supplication, he offered them his most pleading expression and Nesta rolled her eyes once more, adding more coffee and ingredients for porridge to the mix. “Fine,” she stated, waving him away, hearing Astra burst into giggles all over again from her side as Enar let out a whoop of satisfaction at Nesta’s grant of his request.

Enar mock scowled at Nesta’s continued glare, but his eyes danced playfully, and Nesta couldn’t help but cast him the faintest of a smile before they went back to finishing breakfast for the three of them now. 

“He’s nice,” Astra supplied, casting an eyes towards where her guard stood outside the cabin, just outside the door. "All mine when I was growing up were a bunch of stone-faced pricks, you're very lucky."

The idea of having male guards all her life made Nesta frown, watching as Astra studied the man outside. Briefly, she reminded herself to ask more about Astra's home life before they ended the day, but quickly realized Astra was waiting on a reply when she canted her head back in her direction.

“He’s about as loyal and smart as a dog, but he is surprisingly endearing,” Nesta replied dryly, blinking when Astra smacked her shoulder.

“Rude!” She gasped, then began to laugh. “But maybe a little true,” she added, as Nesta turned when Astra pointed, watching Enar shift and do a small shuffle in the cold, most likely to keep warm and ward off sleep, but somehow looked like a pitiful disorganized attempt at dance. Glancing at each other, they both smirked and then began to chuckle, moving to finish breakfast and call him inside.

* * *

As breakfast wore on, Enar sitting across from them, more lively with her now that she had a more amicable companion to diffuse her moments of arctic awkwardness when things shifted to topics she’d rather avoid, Nesta was surprised to find herself not only enjoying the company but actively engaging in it. It was nice having friendships not steeped in prior prejudices, both knowing little of her ties to the Inner Circle and past life, only that she was a new member of Rhysand’s court. Her infamy hadn’t followed her to this small remote village and she relaxed, finding that wall around her grow thin - but ever since she’d satisfied it’s urges by touching Cassian’s power, had been oddly complicit and silent since that morning.

Nesta stared across the table at her friend as they ate quietly, sipping on mugs of coffee since Nesta had finished her herb medication that Astra insist her drink before they ate. This time, with the food, she had a pleasant tingling accompaniment in her body but not the wild urge for brash behavior as before. Enar simply ate, oblivious to their 'ladies chat,' only offering a grunt when pestered to respond to a direct question. Studying Astra’s wings, she blurted the first thing she thought of - sensing how they were so unlike most of the female population’s own bodies. “How is it you’ve remained unclipped?”

Astra looked over her way, swallowing a spoonful of porridge with a shrug. “I taped them deliberately, pretended they were lame, so my father and the other men in my village back home thought the need unnecessary.”

Nesta blinked, finding it genius, but let Astra continue, as she sipped at her coffee, eyes going distant for a moment. “I always knew I was...different...than most females of my origin. I hated answering to a man, allowing them to decide my fate. The cauldron gave me these wings for a purpose, not to let some male clip them and tell me what I was to do with my life. I never really felt docile, not the way a proper Illyrian woman should be, knew I never wanted to simply be married off and told to follow my husband's explicit orders and desires, despite it being told to me since birth that was what I was meant to do.”

“So you made your own plans,” Nesta supplied, watching Astra focus back on her face, but not before a dark steeliness set in her eyes. She nodded, setting her mug aside, further feeding herself and saying nothing for quite some time. Briefly, Nesta noted Enar stopping in his ravenous consumption of food to take in Astra in a new light, before going back to being the hidden member of the table, drowning himself in gluttony. “When everyone was sleeping, I’d slip out into the woods, unbind them, practice with them until I could fly.”

“By yourself?” Nesta asked, keeping her tone even, her expression blank. Inwardly, she admired the woman’s spirit, watching as Astra nodded, seemingly both embarrassed and proud of what she’d done. “And then, when you came here, you -- made sure you couldn’t go back home.”

“That I did,” she replied, nodding with a smile. Nesta nodded back, sipping at her drink as her own thoughts turned inward, reminiscing over her own life. “Did it ever get lonely? Doing all that on your own?”

Astra gave Nesta a knowing smile. “Yes, very. I had no friends, not real ones anyways. The ones I did have always told me how I was wrong, to want the things I wanted, to do the things I did. Now, no one but my brother - now you - will even talk to me. But it was worth it in the end, I think.” She replied, draining her cup.

“How do you know?” She asked, watching Astra rise to take her dishes to the sink. She looked back at Nesta, canting her head to the side as she seemed to think of how to respond to Nesta’s question.

“Because to live with regret is far, far worse a fate than to try and fail, I think. I chose to live my life how I wanted to, on my own terms. So far, despite the problems, I haven’t had one single ounce of regret to speak of. That makes life harsh but worthy of living, don’t you think? After all, isn’t that the point? To do what you want with your life?”

Nesta said nothing, but swallowed, lowering her eyes to her own mug and taking another slow sip. 

“Azriel said I should only do half days until I gain more weight, but…” Nesta started, once they were all finished, suddenly finding herself anxious to say the right words to send them outside with the other women she could see gathering in the distance, Devlon setting up camp, despite her arctic mask in place. 

Astra leaned back, draining her mug of half-devoured coffee, and Enar did the same. “Shoot, you’re right, it looks like they’ll be starting very soon. I can help with dishes really quickly,” she quickly said, rising and grabbing her dishes and part of Enar’s now that he was finished, laying back in his seat with a contented look on his face, not even remotely registering Nesta’s words.

She sat there, stiff and silent, watching as Astra paused and looked her way, raising her eyebrows as she smiled.  “...but do you always do what they say?” She finished for her, giving Nesta a wink and a grin. 

The answer of  _ ‘no’  _ hung between them so heavily, she couldn’t help but grin back and rise to take her own dishes and any left over at the table, heading with her towards the sink.

“ _ No _ ,” they both replied at the same time as they reached the sink together, beginning to work as a team to quickly wash the dinnerware from breakfast - Astra washing, Nesta drying and returning to the shelves they’d pulled them from - laughing like school girls as their same response to Astra’s question rang out from both of them at the same time.

Enar finally seemed to focus at the sound, turning and blinking at them both, looking completely confused and lost at whatever they’d suddenly found amusing. Nesta noticed his stare, arching an eyebrow his direction as she paused in her laughter to glare back at his confusion, only to roll her eyes to finish up the dishes when he simply continued to blink and say nothing, of which Astra found hysterical, launching into more laughter.

“Do women not giggle where you come from, Enar?” Chortled Astra, looking back Enar’s way with a grin. He grumbled something underneath his breath, only saying it louder when they both asked him to repeat what he said.

“Not like that. You sound like a pack of dying wolves,” He glowered.

Nesta and Astra took one look at each other and nearly bowled over, cackling hysterically. Nesta actually found herself wiping tears from her eyes, her facial muscles beginning to tug in exhaustion, at a loss for how long it had been since she’d had a good laugh. 

_ ‘Do I seriously sound like a dying wolf?’  _ Astra mouthed her way, when their backs were turned away from Enar, only for Nesta to make an odd snorting noise from her nose - hoping it mimicked that of a dying wolf - which made Astra once more laugh, clutching her side as her voice wavered under the onslaught.

“For Cauldron’s sake, I’ll be outside,” Enar muttered, leaving them for the door. Nesta smirked, giving a faint bow, while Astra composed herself.

“Ran him off good,” She chuckled, shaking her head and wiping tears from her eyes. Nesta grinned, then shrugged, glancing outside.

“Ready for this?” She asked her, watching Astra straighten once her eyes looked outside. She nodded, straightening her clothes, and flashing her a grin.

“Let’s go kick that old man’s pride into the dirt,” Astra declared, making Nesta grin and move to the door.


	12. Chapter 12

The second their feet landed in the center of the village square, Cassian could sense something was wrong. Things were quiet -- too damn quiet. Adrenaline scalded his senses, his pulse roaring in his ears, but he willed himself to focus as his wings quivered briefly with the impatience to move while he forced himself to fold them tightly against his back to appear calm to any observing eye, which he was sure there was.

Nothing came at them.

Keeping his expression schooled, Cassian let his eyes drift about to the flanking buildings surrounding the square, nothing seemingly out of place. A few curtains moved, telling him his instincts had been right, there had been eyes on his person, but now that he was paying attention they’d lost their nerve and scattered. The air was still charged with something different - not quite hostile, but not calm either - and the cold distilled feeling in the village square felt eerie against his gut. It pissed him off to see the village that he’d just visited so changed in a mere amount of hours, telling him he’d just missed something vital - Rhysand’s searching tone from yesterday ringing in his ears - and he bit back the urge to growl at his slip. _I knew the villagers were hostile but...this? Where the hell is everyone?_

Dawn was just now coming, blooming across the sky in shapes of gold and peach, light just beginning to dust the ridge of snow-capped mountains in the distance. To his right, he felt Azriel still and become almost nothing against his senses - half present in this reality, half concealed in shadow - and he realized that he had also picked up on the odd vibe coming from the village itself.

“You visited here just the other day?” Azriel murmured, his tone soft but oddly lilted, a mixture of cautious warning, curiosity, and bafflement.

Cassian nodded, scanning the village for anything out of the normal. Just as he began to turn and scan the other half of the square, he watched as several wives - their limp, lame wings tucked tight against their bodies - begin to cross the square, carrying soiled linens in baskets to the fountain to do laundry, eyes wary and downcast. “Yeah, this is where the war chief’s son and his band of merry men met me, too. Made it quite clear I was to go.”

“Where’s the welcome committee now?” Azriel murmured, raising a hand to the hilt of the dagger secured at his hip, close enough that Cassian could feel the ebb and flow of vibrating shadows hovering around them, just out of sight. “From the sounds of it, they’re not one to miss out on the fun.”

“No clue and that’s what has me  worried, “ he confirmed, centering his gaze once more on the war chief’s house in the distance. “There is no way in hell that narcissistic prick would miss out on a chance to boast. Take a look around, chat up some women, see what you can find out. I’m going to see if the war chief is in, see what he has to say about this. This place feels like a damned ghost town,” Cassian muttered, glancing back Azriel’s way. His friend nodded, tapping his ear and then pointing to the Smithy's, which was also eerily silent. Their gazes clashed - _No Blacksmith sounds? In a damned war camp?_ \- nodding when they both understood exactly what that meant. Before he could say something, Azriel was gone, half vanished into shadow, appearing close to the fountain where the women worked on their linens.

Ignoring the gasps of surprise from the women, Cassian glanced back towards the most influential of the cabins lining the square that denoted the war chief’s private residence, recounting what the crumpled note had said to him as snowfall crunched beneath his boots while he walked towards the sprawling wooden structure.

A drifter, some rumors mentioning two, had been travelling south towards Velaris through each of the war camps dotting the Illyrian mountains, seeking steelwork as a trade, but also spouting concerns of Rhysand’s upper forces having the legitimacy to run the Illyrian army. No physical description of the drifter was in the note, telling Cassian that Jeric’s friend had only heard rumor, not actually having met the suspect himself, and he ground his teeth in frustration at the loss of information. The further he’d read on, it had both infuriated him and opened old wounds he’d long since thought healed, still reeling from what Azriel had told him of Nesta. It also concerned him how many men clearly believed such words, if the eerie sense of abandonment in the camp was any clue.

 _Where the hell would they even go? They’re not seriously trying to...what? Break off and form their own independence?_ Cassian snorted briefly, but admitted what he feared could happen; more would leave, and if Rhysand pushed for obedience or worse, demanded it through a brute show of strength, the Night Court as a whole stood a very real chance of becoming less like what Velaris promised and more like the corrupted cesspit that the Hewn City now was. The very thought made his skin crawl and his stomach tighten, remembering what had happened to Mor all those years ago, despite her insisting she’d known what would occur and that it had been worth the price for her freedom. The idea of the Night Court eating itself alive through Civil War or worse, being turned into a mocking representation of what the Hewn City now was, made him want to vomit. _Fucking bastards,_ he snarled, dimly shaking his head as he marched towards the war chief’s front door, _all of you are damned cowards. Where’s your fucking honor_ **_now_ ** _?_

The eerie winter wind whipped at his senses, answering with a hollow reply of sheer nothingness - no typical village sounds of the Smithy carrying out weapon’s orders, no training sounds in the distance, no harsh laughter and taunts of males teaching one another, or better yet, the women, how to fight. It made him want to punch something, preferably the war chief’s son, but he simply contented himself with making sure that he got answers this time. Too much was at stake otherwise.

Cassian knew Rhysand did not want to lead by demand, but he would if he had to, even if it ripped out part of his soul to do so, so that the Night Court would remain impervious to the other court’s manipulations. They’d fought too long, too hard, for anything less, and despite the High Lord meetings now continuing, resulting in more cooperation amongst the courts than Prythian had ever seen, now that the Mortal Queens posed a threat they all allied against, old grudges were still very fresh and not so easy to forget. He still was angry that Rhysand had done what he did so foolishly, heaping the responsibility on himself for the Night Court alone, and while he respected the hell out of his best friend for the sheer staggering amounts of willpower to land on the other side of that casym with a mate who loved him and an intact, flourishing court, he still wished it hadn’t been with the cost of dying alliances between other High Lords. Despite Spring rebounding, in part thanks to the Night Court’s efforts, Cassian still felt things were too fluid to feel comfortable in any lasting alliances to hold in the meetings that continued down south.

 _This is why I wanted to do this on my own, Rhysand. You took all my choices away with Amarantha and then with Tamlin. Can’t I shoulder even some of the burden now? Don’t you remember the Blood Rite, when  we worked as a_ **_team_ ** _against the world of others that wanted to cut us down?_

Dropping the introspection, Cassian knocked sharply on the door once he climbed the steps of the threshold that held the covered entrance to the war chief’s cabin. Canting his eyes back towards the square, watching as Azriel still conversed with the women at the fountain, he waited patiently as he heard a rough shuffle across creaking floorboards, surprised to see when he turned back at the sound of the the door swinging open abruptly the wizened war chief himself.

“Worolf,” Cassian greeted, nodding his head briefly, keeping his tone even, as his eyes darted behind him, seeing no woman in sight. That surprised him, but he schooled it out of his face, waiting for the old man to reply back. He knew of Worolf, seeing him in meetings over the years held by the Illyrian war board, or in training or on the battlefield, but they’d never shared words face to face.

The man was legendary for his detest of social calls or small talk, no matter the subject, so to see him standing there answering his own door summons made Cassian’s gut cramp all that much harder with wariness. Still, he stared politely back, keeping his posture rigid but nonthreatening, letting the old war chief make his own assumptions to his mood.

The older man stared at him, expression flat and virtually unreadable - one of the few things that allowed him to remain in power all these years, even with several sired sons now of challenging age - and Cassian waited until he was done thoroughly inspecting him before he seemed to come to a decision, wings shifting as he finally nodded once back, grunting and making room for him to step inside. Cassian never knew how he felt about his lineage - too wary to ask - but instantly felt relief swamp him as he stepped inside, knocking snow from his boots as he went. The old war chief was stoic but had always been loyal and even now, standing here and taking his house call, told him that at least the war chief hadn’t abandoned his sense of duty.

Despite their differences, Worolf once more reminded Cassian that he was not his son, regardless of how he might have personally felt about him. He simply stared as he closed the front door, saying nothing of insult before grunting and motioning him further inside the house, not bothering to pause to see if Cassian followed. He did, tucking his wings in tight as he moved down the hall, eyes sweeping the rooms he could glance into quickly, feeling no threats, only curious stares of women and young children as he walked. Once again, the sense of something being amiss hit him, and Cassian tried fishing to figure out why. “I met your son the previous eve, with some of his friends. Is he not in today?”

“We both know you ain’t here for that whelp, so drop the small talk. He ain’t here, left this morning.” With that, Worolf stopped talking entirely, only resuming once he motioned him inside his study and slammed the door shut, his siphon gleaming to life on his bracer, warding them inside. Cassian said nothing, merely arching a brow as he watched the old male shuffle to a chair by his desk that was littered with papers, the room glowing faintly with the embers from a dying fire in the hearth. It was obvious this room was Worolf’s domain alone, too cluttered to have felt a woman’s touch. When the old war chief motioned for him to sit, he did so, finding a seat by the fire.

“Before you ask, I didn’t know he planned to be a damned deserter. I know you ain’t stupid, you’ve seen yourself the lack of people about this morning. If I did, I’d have killed him myself before he left his declaration and up and left us.” The words were a mere growl, the older male’s fury evident in the heightened color in his cheeks, eyes like chips of ice, his scarred greying countenance nothing short of livid, as Cassian turned and stared at that news. He watched Worolf struggle to contain his fury, finally slamming his fist into a carafe of wine, seemingly enjoying the splatter of berry-colored liquid over the contents of his desk, the glass shattering cooling some of the kindling rage in his eye.

Cassian lowered his brows, latching onto some of the war chief’s words. “Declaration?”

Worolf grunted again, moving past him, opening the door to the study to bark at two of his wives who peered shyly from the doorway to tend to them both - bring tea and snacks - before he turned back and tossed something his way from a shelf by the door. Cassian caught it one handed, but not before he caught the eyes of one of the lingering women before the door slammed shut again - the same mere girl he saw peering at him from the window the previous day. He cast her a faint smile before the door blocked her from his sight, making his eyes drift down to the curled parchment in his fingers. It saddened him to see a strangled curiosity in her eyes - both vivid and shadowed, too afraid to grow but too strong to be completely smothered - still smoldering there, before the door had broken the silent stare between them. He’d never heard rumors of abuse from the village, despite their social standing here, but still the sight pained him. Brushing past it, he began opening the parchment, only to catch Worolf’s words as he shuffled back to his seat.

“While you’re under my roof, quit staring at my daughter like that unless you’re here to claim her,” Growled the war chief without even turning as he took to his chair once more. Cassian didn’t bother rebuking the male’s words - there was only one female these days he wanted, all stubborn golden-haired bit of her - merely deciding to adopt an expression he’d seen Nesta wear many times before in response. Worolf seemed to accept this, grunting once more, before he grabbed something off the desk that had been spared his wrath, tossing a leather-bound journal his way to accompany the parchment he’d begun to unfold with hastily scribbled scrawl in messy ink.

Glancing at them both, he peered first at the journal, opening it and realizing it detailed the female population of the village and a smattering of war chief names, clan numbers, both female and male. Casting his gaze briefly towards the old man, finding the additions of nearby northern villages odd, who simply scowled back but failed to expand, motioning to the parchment to be reviewed first, he finally turned his attention to the letter addressed to Worolf that  the old man wanted him to see.

It was a declaration, alright, making Cassian’s gut tense with both fury and fear at what he read. It detailed, most likely in his son’s lazy scrawl, that a large portion of Worolf’s young male populous hated the dictation from the Inner Circle and the current collection of War Chiefs that allowed the edicts to be followed. Several names were signed along with the war chief’s son. “When was this left? When did they leave?”

“This morning,” Worolf grunted, his tone gravelly and banked with endless hidden amounts of rage. Cassian merely nodded, studying the wording carefully.

 _We, as the future of Illyria, will not stand for the words of bastards to lead us. We, as the true heritage of Illyria, will carve our own way to what is right._ Even seeing the words made Cassian’s blood boil, his siphons beginning to gleam despite his best attempt for them not to.

 _None of it really mattered, what we did over the years, did it?_ He wondered, reading the words again and again. _All they care about is for legitimacy, not strength or power or intelligence. Just that you crawled out of the right womb from the right male’s wife._

Before he could even utter a word, the old man’s growl sliced through the air. “That entire document is horse shit. I’m well aware it’s treason. You find my boy, you make him pay the price. No exception.”

The finality in the old man’s voice surprised Cassian, but he didn’t let it show. He turned it, tapping to a few areas written in the parchment. “You’re telling me that this doesn’t ring true for you? That it doesn’t bother you that this bastard leads the Illyrian troops?”

The moment he said the words, he regretted speaking them, but he met the old man’s stare head on. He wasn’t his father, never would be, but he asked them as if he was speaking to him. It never ceased to amaze him, how truly volatile these people were when it came to unwanted offspring, even if those offspring ended up like him or Azriel, more powerful than anything that had come previously before. He was so sick and tired of being judged based off his lack of a claim to a village war chief’s progeny.

Worolf stared at him, his expression one of harsh assessment, and Cassian stood, taking it without expression as he crumpled the letter and shoved it in his pocket while he waited the man’s edict. It infuriated him that he couldn’t read the old man’s expression once more, while he stared Cassian down, but finally the old man merely shrugged. “Don’t matter, in the end. Sure, it’d have been nice if you were a legitimate heir, but power is power. Don’t matter if you carry a war chief’s name or not, the mountain let you live. It let all of you live. For Cauldron’s sake, it practically blessed your bastard ass, giving you all that raw power. Even I understand that. Many of us older clansmen do, even if the young one’s don’t have a lick of sense to understand true war and the cost.”

Worolf couldn’t have better surprised him if he slapped him across the face. He stood there, blinking, as the old man scowled and continued on, staring into the fire, his fury once more evident in the way his jaw flexed. “My son is a damned fool as is any male that takes up with the belief you or the High Lord’s Inner Circle ain’t worth the respect. They don’t know what it was like, the war before the cauldron.” With that, he laughed, the sound brittle and harsh, but Cassian began to understand and respect the war chief the more he dredged on, sinking back into his chair. The old man’s eyes briefly shifted his way, then looked into the fire once again. “Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. _That war_ made this last one look like a pissing contest between toddlers. I’m old, I don’t want my people suffering like that again. You’ve got that same look in your eye that I do - maybe ‘cause how you were raised with shit for nothing, what you’ve seen in _both_ wars, so you know what the cost is. The cauldron was bad, but hell - it’s all bad. Don’t matter if it’s a magic fucking cauldron doing the killing or other men, dead is dead. You also know ain’t _nothing_ worth the cost of that, especially not this piddly shit.”

 _Well, damn,_ Cassian stared, letting a little of his surprise shine through, finally feeling a sense of relief he asked the question that had been burning in his gut most of his life. The war chief caught the stare, scowling once more.

“Don’t mean I agree with these damn policies of yours. Women fighters? _Bah_.” Worolf watched Cassian’s face turn hard and finally rubbed a roughened thumb across his eye sockets with a sigh. “I’ll push it, though. The men don’t like it, they like their women compliant, ready and willing to serve them, either with their bodies or with the homes or babes, but I see why you’re pushing it. Ain’t my place to question my betters, you’re not a dumb kid, General. Your head is in the right place.”

Despite the war chief essentially telling him he’d enforce his orders, it still rankled him to hear the women of Illyria referred to as mere playthings and servants. “You’re telling me you can’t school a bunch of babied males to suck it up and put a weapon in their female’s hands? What if we gave you a place to send them?” Cassian snorted, not caring if it pissed off the old man.

The angry glare the old man sent him told Cassian his tone did piss him off, but Cassian merely glared back. Worolf made a sweeping gesture with his hands, a mocking smirk on his face. “You seen the village? The men across the mountains? Take them away from the one source of constant pleasure here - willing, fuckable females - and _of course_ they’re pissed.”

Cassian almost rolled his eyes, listening as the old man grunted, but kept his expression stoic as the war chief shrugged a shoulder. “I said I’d enforce it all the same, if that’s your command, but you can’t be surprised this is an uphill battle, son.” Worolf barked back, glowering as Cassian tried not to laugh at the old man’s growing disgruntled stare. “Can’t be happy a man’s commanding our women to fight, though. Regardless of my opinion, law is law.” Cassian watched as Worolf paused, thinking over what Cassian mentioned - the new village - catching his eyes once more.

“New village? For the women?” He grunted, watching Cassian nod. “Where it at?”

The pointed stare Cassian sent him made Worolf roll his eyes but nod gruffly. “Ain’t sharing - smart. Not a bad idea, but I’d need a few days to demand an answer from the females willing to go.”

“You’re the one asking them?” Cassian replied, forcing the amusement out of his voice. “Why not let me or Azriel?”

Worolf glowered. “This is still _my_ village, son, and at the end of the day - my people and my females. If anyone’s doing the asking, it’ll be _me_.”

“Very well,” Cassian replied, tapping the journal. “And this?”

“Names of others who support you. Who might soon be reporting missing numbers of male fighters.” Worolf replied.

Hearing that, Cassian went tense, watching as Worolf shrugged once more. “Like I said, this change ain’t going to be an easy one, but you’re not completely surrounded by enemies, son. Take what I’m offering, get yourself some backers - some of which may surprise you when you read that list - fish out the ones that need to learn a lesson in what true peace costs, and in the mean time, get the hell out of my house.” He smirked, his eyes finally flickering with a hint of amusement, before he rolled his eyes and yelled loud enough that most of the household most likely heard, cutting off the meaningful moment with dripping sarcasm. If Cassian had the gut to let down his guard, he might have even laughed. “And since my damned wives can’t service a man a drink and food in a reasonable time, they can forget the pleasantries and see the General out.”

The door opened, one of Worolf’s wives flushing pink, eyes downcast, offering to take him to the door. Pocketing the journal in an inner pocket inside his curiass, he canted his head towards the old man. “Thanks for the assistance, Worolf. The High Lord might be by with more questions.”

“Don’t thank me yet, not til you find those boys,” Worolf warned, shrugging at the mention that Rhysand would be reviewing the journal ledger and most likely return with questions and what his offering meant in the end. “Let him come and ask his questions. This ain’t over yet, though. Thank me when it’s settled.”

Nodding, Cassian left the old man to his study, following the wife towards the door.

* * *

 

Cassian met Azriel once more in the square, feeling him ripple into existence from a storm of shadows within moments of his approach. “What’d you find?” He asked, tapping his leather chest piece, indicating the journal inside.

Azriel shrugged, his gaze narrowing on what Cassian showed him. “Not much, other than the men are gone. Deserters, it seems, but they wouldn’t mention much outside of that. A few of the women spoke that they’d mention our offer to send them someplace else to study, but wouldn’t exactly say when they would let me know they accepted. I told them to post a parchment to me, not giving away the camp’s location.”

“Good choice, I did the same,” he murmured, clasping Azriel’s hand, feeling the Spy Master whisk them away -- then released his grip when he noted the surroundings of the House of Wind. “Thanks, read my mind,” he commented, knowing that Azriel was thinking along the same lines as he was, knowing what they’d learned needed to be shared with Rhysand before the next measures were taken - how to handle the deserters.

Briefly, his thoughts returned to Nesta and the events of this morning. His blood heated, surging straight for his grieves, making him wince and shift the stretch of leather across his hips as he walked behind Azriel towards the meeting room they’d debriefed about the death note the day before.

She’d kissed him. _She_ had kissed _him._ He found himself briefly smiling, despite the seriousness of the next few hours, while he watched Azriel move to summon Rhysand with notes placed through shadows, towards their High Lord and High Lady, asking them to meet them here, as he plucked the journal and crumbled parchment from his person, settling them on the table still scorched with the remnants of Rhysand’s previous outburst. It had meant something; that she had done the initiation not once, but twice, the second time being stone cold sober. She wanted him, that much he knew, but when she'd acted on the urge, all sense of caution when it came to approaching Nesta flew out the window. If he hadn't had Court matters to do that morning, it wouldn't have mattered if Hybern himself had been at the door, he'd have been inside her and making her scream his name in seconds.

 _When I get home tonight, we’re doing a hell of a lot more than kissing if you’ll allow it,_ he vowed, swallowing thickly as he thought back to the feeling of her breasts abrading against the metal discs buried in his leather curiass. When she’d done that, along with taking his tongue in her mouth, he’d almost came right there, to hell with embarrassment.

If one thing made the start to this particularly shitty morning worthwhile, it was the promise of Nesta gasping through orgasm when he got to touch her tonight. He knew she’d done that to show him she wasn’t afraid of him, even with the arctic glare showing otherwise, but what he suspected she didn’t bank on was what he’d learned the night before when they'd touched each other. It was the bond, neither quite yet ready to fully explore what it meant, but once he'd finally accepted it, fears and all, he was beyond ready to push for more. The idea of having a part of Nesta all to himself that no one had ever touched tugged at a satisfaction so deep inside him, it should have unnerved him, but only made him ache for her more fiercely.

Knowing what he knew now, after realizing that his fears were groundless in the long run, there wasn’t going to be a damned thing that stopped him from getting under her skin, in her body, and accepting the bond. He'd be patient, knowing Nesta still had a lot of fears to overcome, but he was anything if not tenacious. He'd show her she had nothing to be afraid of, especially from him, except perhaps how unending his hunger for her was.  _You’re mine, Ice Princess. Every frigid inch of you._

Seeing Rhysand and Feyre enter the room, he cast the thoughts aside, setting the journal and the crumpled parchment in front of them, getting back to business. "We've got something you need to see."


	13. Chapter 13

The morning chill dancing along the air was crisp but not so frigid that she could feel sharp  coldness in her lungs with each deep inhalation. Puffs of steamed air still escaped past her nose when she looked, but otherwise it was a very suitable morning for training. There was little trace of clouds in the sky, the sun was up and bright above their heads, but not so blazing that the reflection against the snow threatened to blind them. Even the birds seemed to agree, singing boisterously from their perches near the woods edging along the cabin’s grounds and the trail that led to the training ring downhill.

“The humidity is tolerable today,” commented Enar, who had followed alongside them as Nesta and Astra reached the edge of the training ring, leaning against the fence. “Still though, don’t let the seemingly balmy weather fool you. It’ll catch up to you if you’re not careful,” he warned, making Nesta glance sidelong at him. She almost retorted that she knew what winter felt like, what the warning signs of lowered body temperature were, but pinched her lips together when she saw him eye them both with concern. He continued on, oblivious. “As long as you’re moving, keeping your body temperature up, you’re fine. But once training is done, don’t dwaddle and come back to the cabin with me. The sweat will turn cold and the last thing you two need is a fever.”

“Thanks for the tips, mother,” Nesta finally commented, unable to resist, but Enar merely scowled briefly before rolling his eyes and chuckling, patting her on the shoulder and wishing her good look, letting her know he didn’t take offense. Keeping her face expressionless, she eased up in relief, realizing he hadn’t taken offense to the snide comment like she feared he would have, before she moved past him and into the ring, waiting for instruction from Devlon, who was busy passing out bokkens near the tarps strewn across the snow-laden ground. Astra had missed the interaction entirely, flying ahead briefly to murmur something in Devlon’s ear, watching as the male looked up, narrowed his eyes at Nesta, then finally grimaced, nodding and handing her friend two bokkens before ignoring them both entirely.

Finding the whole behavior odd, Nesta arched a curious brow as Astra returned, handing her one, slightly out of breath and smiling. “He’s agreed to be less of a prick today. He’ll use others for demonstrations, too.”

“What exactly did you tell him?” Nesta asked, bristling at the idea Astra said something to make her appear weaker in the older male’s eyes. Astra merely grinned, her dark eyes winkling mischievously as she shrugged a shoulder. “Well?” She pushed, when Astra failed to say something else.

It was Enar who broke the silence, surprising her as she turned to the sound of his voice. “He frequents the tavern by the village square,” Enar started again, sounding embarrassed but also amused - perhaps a smidge prideful - and Nesta blinked, waiting for him to continue, as he suddenly scratched a phantom itch behind his right ear, avoiding her gaze. “And he’s got a crush on one of Leonold’s girls. I...may have let that knowledge slip to Astra.”

“In which I suggested, in no uncertain terms, that if he should continue to pick on you, I’d perhaps tell her father so he could cut him down in his sleep,” Astra supplied cheekily, looking devilishly pleased with herself, once Nesta turned back her way, blinking in shock and suffused fury. _Blackmail? We’re stooping to that now? All to avoid some egotistical male from showering me with a rough lesson or two?_

“You... _what_?” Nesta hissed, her eyes going slightly wide before she could school the shock out of her system. “For me?”

Astra merely shrugged with a grin, Enar’s rumble of amusement behind her catching her ear, making heat creep up the side of her neck. No one had ever done such a thing before on her behalf and almost immediately, she felt a constricting band of discomfort lodging in her chest. _Why would they do that - for me of all people?_ She didn’t like the immediate sense that she was now somehow in their debt, ire quickly replacing surprise. _And as always, they’ll want something in return. How presumptuous of them._ Just when things were looking up, they threw _this_ at her, making her swallow down the fury that brewed just beneath the surface. She didn’t like feeling in debt to anyone, least of all two new acquaintances who barely knew her, and the resulting anger rumbled something loose inside herself, where that power lay, curled up inside her.

Desperately reaching for control, she forced the look of shock off her face, reaching for that familiar arctic mask she always used in situations like this, knowing if she showed how she truly felt, they would react as others always had - with shock, then anger, then bitter dismay and finally disgust. The resulting mixture of wild emotions that sprouted in her chest would feed that _thing_ inside her and -- she didn’t want to think about it, slamming down that trail of thought before it took hold. Her fingers tingled, the tell-tale warning of that gift stirring and itching to get out, but she clamped it down, grabbing the bokken Astra held out towards her, moving past them both and saying nothing.

“Told you we should’ve kept that between ourselves,” she heard Enar mutter to Astra, who hushed him and whispered something else to him before joining Nesta on the training field. She didn’t bother looking over her shoulder, knowing whatever emotions they shared would only confuse her worse and make things more complicated.

She gritted her teeth, keeping her expression aloof, listening to Devlon call two other pairs of Illyrian women up front and demonstrate a few new countermoves to train on today. Astra kept staring at her between demonstrations; she could tell, from the feeling of eyes upon her profile, but Nesta refused to budge, still feeling off kilter and angry about her own confused responses to how they’d managed to have Devlon back off and probably spare the man his life, remembering how Cassian just that morning had threatened to end him if he took another go at her. Once more, questions plagued her.

 _Why help_ **_me_ ** _? What’s in it for them? Surely it can’t be because they like me? No one likes me._

She hadn’t been kind to them at all times, in fact, if she remembered clearly over the past few days, she’d been curt and cold to them most of the time, like she was with just about everyone in her life. Without Astra, she was pretty sure that Enar would have been just like everyone else, staring at her with barely disguised annoyance or disgust past day one, barely muttering words in her presence and only when forced to. Astra had been her one saving grace since coming to the village and it embarrassed her to realize she didn’t know what to do. Should she thank her? Tell her to butt out of her business? Compliment her on her deviousness?

One thing was for sure, she realized how utterly alone she’d allowed herself to be over the years. Even with family alive, two sisters and a father for the longest time until the war, and now an extended family of fantastical beings with extended lives that would be part of her life for a very long time to come, she’d never had true companionship or friends. Part of her thought back to her mother, her father, before things went so utterly wrong, knowing instinctively that they had part of the blame for it - and then Thomas, and then Hybern, and then…

 _Gods, you sound like a damned wilting female in those stupid books Ellain keeps picking up,_ she thought, disgusted with herself. _You’ve got no one to blame but yourself, right? Isn’t that what everyone says?_

The answer wasn’t so simple, she knew that, but it frightened her, this added vulnerability, as they began to know her and some of her secrets and desires as she tried to let down her guard and let someone in - anyone in. _I sound like a moron,_ she bitterly cursed at herself, shaking her head at her own naivety. _Congratulations on cutting yourself off so far that you don’t even know how to properly thank someone. They’re probably mad you didn’t, so mission accomplished in that regard - good job, idiot. You’re pathetic._

Canting her head towards Astra, once Devlon was done demonstrating the moves with the two demonstrators, she tried gauging her friend’s mood. Astra was focused, adopting an expression similar to her own as they glided through the positions, and it frustrated the hell out of her getting a taste of her own medicine. Once or twice, Astra’s gaze met her own, and she smirked at her, tilting her head to the side, taunting her with a look that seemed to say _‘Sucks, doesn’t it?_.’ Rather than admit she didn’t like being iced out, she merely stared back, expressionless, watching fury spark in Astra’s eyes before dissipating under the continued pacing of their exercises, following along to what Devlon was teaching them for the time being.

Finally, the training seemed to kick in at the level she needed, requiring her introspection to drop as she focused her efforts once more on memorizing and executing the moves they were to master. After nearly an hour of hard work, he briefly stopped by, observing them before nodding and moving on, eyes lingering on her form as if he too were surprised at how recovered she was, but she refused to look his way and potentially threaten his position again. She’d fucked up enough this morning - probably with Cassian, definitely with Enar and Astra, and she didn’t want or need the attention Devlon could bring. She’d just managed to control that gift inside herself, but it was still restless, still pacing, just agitated enough that the merest provocation could stir it again, and feeling so weak already and out of sorts, she was afraid to test her inner wall building at this time.

Devlon’s attention drifted to her again over the next half hour, as the women took to sparring in front of the others, making Nesta play it safe and do just enough to prove she learned the skills when she was forced to take on Astra. Astra was aggressive, perhaps unduly so, speaking without saying anything that she hadn’t forgotten Nesta’s cold rebuke of her attempt to help her earlier that morning. Nesta merely ignored it, refusing the taunts being tossed her way by her female peers in the training ring, glossing over a few barbs tossed her way by Devlon. He snorted, noting her lack of fire this morning, and seemed bored after a while, to her relief. Once was bad enough to grab his attention and demand submission through a brutal sparring or two, twice was worse, but another time and Nesta knew her training with the others would be over, Cassian had said as much and by the occasional looks she received from the others, she knew she’d stretched her proverbial welcome to it’s limits.

“What’s the matter with you?” Astra finally muttered, stepping close, when Nesta was too deep in thought to properly block the move she made with her wooden sword and everyone’s attention was elsewhere. “You want Devlon over here grilling your ass? _Focus_.”

“ _I am,_ ” she bit out, shrugging off Astra’s frazzled concern, blocking the next two moves successfully. She glanced sidelong at Devlon, surprised to hear Astra’s warning, jolting faintly when she caught his dead stare, observing her every move. "Shut up, you’re making me lose focus.” She focused more after that, successfully blocking each subsequent strike, even if Astra’s anger still brewed with each blow made, ricocheting the impact of each hit up her arms and legs when their bokkens struck with a loud clap of clashing wood. Enar had been right, the sweat was cooling as they slowed in their movements, cold droplets skirting down her spine and making her shiver.

Astra glared when Devlon raised his hand, whistling for the women to stop in their exercises, her expression telling Nesta that their conversation was far from over, turning away and glancing at him when he looked over the ring with a nod of gruff approval.

“Most improved today, I see. Even the stragglers,” he taunted, glancing their way, making a few of the women chuckle in the ring, but promptly went back to staring at the group as a whole. “Next up, endurance tests. Line up, we’re doing some running exercises.”

The next two hours were so blissfully torturous, so much so that Astra couldn’t have continued her badgering even if she wanted to. It allowed Nesta to focus on the will to pull another ragged breath into her lungs, build up her walls, and clamp down on that gift, smothering that spark that continued to pester her until she once more felt like herself.

Devlon worked them to the bone, over and over, until finally lunch was called when nearly all the women, not just Nesta and her friend, struggled to remain standing, sopping wet under the weight of their damp clothes, beginning to shiver as he read off the top performers for the morning.

“Get a bite to eat and we’ll see what else I can drag out of you this afternoon,” he smirked, dismissing them and taking flight, making his way towards whatever amused him away from training - possibly the tavern owner’s daughter.

Nesta turned, wiping a hand across her brow, surprised to see Enar gone, canting her head up towards the cabin, watching him open the door and come down, body gliding easily along the snow-banked trail, before settling just outside the gates that she and Astra struggled to approach on steady legs. She’d never had much training of any kind, and every step reminded  her how poor she was in any kind of athletic endeavor, scowling at Enar’s amused smirk and slow mocking claps when they finally made it to the ring’s edge.

“Well aren’t you two a pretty sight,” he teased, earning glares from the both of them. “And to think, you still have another half day of training to go.”

“ _Bite me,”_ Nesta snarled, furious, stomping past him, finding that with her surge of anger she did have the energy to make it up to the cabin alone, refusing his outstretched arm for help. Astra seemed to have a similar reaction from where she noticed out of the corner of her eye, flicking a middle finger in Enar’s direction before also stalking past, keeping good pace with Nesta’s brisk movements. He merely roared with laughter, walking behind them.

“Made lunch for you two, as I figured you’d get your asses handed to you today,” he called out as they neared the front door, making Nesta’s stomach rumble loudly at the mention of food. “You can make it up to me later.”

“If we don’t die of food poisoning first,” Nesta quipped as they stumbled into the gathering room, making way for the table. Enar seemed to brush off the insult with another bout of laughter before positioning himself by the front door but Astra narrowed her eyes in her direction, making her suppress a swallow. Despite her conscience trying to scream at her to stop, to make amends before things got worse, she somehow couldn’t. It had become second nature to push people away at the first sign of attachment, and she realized with a dull sense of shame she was doing it yet again. She didn’t know what to do to make it right, nor was she particularly eager to set that gift of hers into a frenzied push to escape her makeshift defenses, so she did as she always did in moments like this - absolutely nothing. By Astra’s growing fury etching into her face, she could tell with a sinking sensation that this brief friendship might well and truly be over.

 _This was a mistake, offering to be her friend,_ she thought to herself, a well of pain blooming in her chest, making her rub at the ache with two fingers. _I should never have let her think we were more than simple training partners._ She clamped back a sigh, fatigued physically and emotionally, and shock jolted through her as a sudden craving for alcohol hit her once more.

Guilt assaulted her, her gift latching onto the mood, the clawing sensation returning inside her as Astra continued to glare. She’d learned, early on in her conversion to this mess of a creature she was now, that it was prompted by her moods and with the current shape of today’s outlook, made her gut turn hard and cold, shivering with dread that if she didn’t fix things or reach for that arctic mask constantly, things could well and truly get dangerous. If she wasn’t careful, she’d damage not only this budding friendship, but far, far worse.

Only once, had the power slipped beyond her control, and she still had nightmares about that night - the night she’d brought her first bar find home, who’d attempted to rob her and then, like Thomas, take something she didn’t want to give - and then when she escaped to the city’s edge, and he’d followed her, she--- _Oh Gods, she’d---_

Slamming down on that trail of thought, she moved across the room, not even bothering to check her appearance in the mirror, knowing she looked a wilting hot mess. Astra, possibly in an attempt to cool her sparking temper, took the time to tug off her boots by the door and wriggle her toes briefly, groaning and flopping into her seat once she made her way across the room. Together, they attacked the sandwiches and fruit slices Enar had laid out, not speaking to one another, letting their hunger rule in that moment. Nesta was grateful for the reprieve but Astra looked only to be growing more irate, making her internally sigh. As Enar promised, it was coarse bland fare, but neither complained as the man stationed himself outside and left them to continue their argument from earlier.

“So what crawled up your ass when we hit the ring? The comment about Devlon?” Astra muttered finally, once she sat back after demolishing the contents of her plate. Nesta said nothing, staring at the crumbs on her own, before Astra finally slammed her fist on the table, making Nesta snap her gaze towards her friend. “Seriously, _what the hell?_ I was just trying to help. Why are you acting like such a bitch?”

Once more, those snippets of her past came back to haunt her as she took a swallow of the glass of water Enar left by the table set for two, her gift pressing against her inner wall in a sleek, traitorous purr.

 _Can’t you say_ **_one single nice thing to me?_ ** _What’s your problem?_

 _Nesta, you’re such a_ **_fucking bitch sometimes._ **

Perhaps those voices or the feeling of that gift stirring, taunting her to let it go and risk her new friend, made her snarl out her response, but either way, the look on Astra’s face when she finally replied looked both livid and stunned. “I didn’t _ask_ you to do that for me,” She spat back, blue eyes blazing. “It made me appear weak to him.”

“Are you _kidding me_ ?” Astra stared, mouth slightly agape, finally laughing and shaking her head, the tone sounding incredulous even to her ears. “You don’t look weak in the least. You’re walking, moving, following along with everything he’s dishing out when you shouldn’t even be able to crawl out of bed this morning. You don’t look _weak_ , Nesta. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t tear into your hide again, he’s done that one too many times as it is. Can’t I stick up for my friends when they need it?”

Nesta grit her teeth, wanting to tell her she could, but still pissed she had to do it _that_ way. She didn’t _need or ask_ for that kind of help, but by Astra’s growing expression of hurt, she realized once more she was making yet another mistake, mishandling this like she did everything in her life. _You ruin everything you touch,_ she thought to herself, when Astra began to stand, making a faint disgusted sound in the back of her throat, about to leave.

Despite her head and chest buzzing dangerously, knotting her concentration on maintaining that wall, that gift screaming to be let out, Nesta shoved down the angry tortured part of herself and forced herself to speak, even when the words trembled and sounded hoarse, open and raw against what she was doing to their barely-formed friendship.

“I’m sorry.”

Astra stopped, but Nesta squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to look to see if she moved for the door.

“I’ve never...had a friend,” she admitted. “Most can’t stand me. I’m a bitter, lonely, horrible person and I...am so _terribly_ sorry, I…” Embarrassed at the sound of her voice cracking - pain and fear welling up so fast inside her, it physically hurt to keep talking, she simply threw her hands up, plastering them over her face, trying to maintain a sense of dignity as Astra moved to walk out the door. Her eyes blazed, turning hot, and she realized she felt tears against her fingers. “ _Gods,_ I’m a fucking mess. I don’t deserve you, or this friendship, so if you’d just go, it would be best for the both of us...please…”

“Hey,” Astra whispered, close by. Nesta blinked, looking up, not expecting to see her standing so close, a concerned look flashing in her eyes. Nesta tried - and failed - to reach for that mask she always wore, feeling her heart blazing, that ‘gift’ of hers railing against her internal bricks but she refused to let it out, not with Astra so close by. “You’re really not kidding, are you? You don’t know how to be anything else but what you are?”

“ _No_ ,” Nesta whispered, feeling her face crumble, tears streaming down her face. “Fuck, this is disgusting.” She shook her head, wiping at her eyes, trying to look away. “ _I’m_ fucking disgusting. Just leave, please. I need to…”

“I will do no such thing,” Astra whispered, taking Nesta’s shoulders in her hands and tugging her into a hug. Nesta froze, going rigid, before finally returning the action, albeit awkwardly. “What the hell happened to you? Even as bad as things were for me, I still had my brother. I still had my sense of humor. You can tell me, Nesta. I won’t judge.”

“It’s a rather long story and it would only make you hate me more,” she whispered, closing her eyes, feeling her gift roar in frustration from being denied out. Part of her relished the pain. “I hate myself enough as it is, I don’t need your pity or disgust, too.”

“That much I can see for myself,” Astra replied, pulling back and frowning as she stared at Nesta’s expression, and when Nesta met her eyes, she could sense Astra’s buried strength, refusing to allow her to push her away. “How about after training? At dinner? Cassian invited me over and I really think you need someone to talk to. Bottling this up isn’t the solution, surely you know that. You can trust me.”

She felt volatile, out of control, and barely could see her friend’s concerned glances with how viciously she fought to control that power that was engulfing her insides like a battering ram. ‘ _Bottling this up isn’t the solution’_ continued to ring in her eyes, making her swallow and sharpen her gaze on Astra. Suddenly, something hit her, and she stilled.

 _She’s right…._ Suddenly, she knew what she needed to do.

“Okay,” she found herself agreeing, whispering her acknowledgement. She _would_ try, for the persistent woman in front of her who hadn’t given up on her, like her friends had, like the Inner Circle had -- all except Cassian, despite his brief disgust with her that one day, when he went to fetch her for her sister and her mate, the High Lord of the Night Court --  but only after training, after what she needed to do next. “Tonight, yes. After dinner.”

Astra nodded, rising, smiling faintly, concern still tinging her features. She looked down the hall, pointing to the bathroom. “I’m just going to go clean up, okay? Then you can do the same, and we’ll get back to this. You’re not getting out of this, Nesta. Tonight you’re coming clean and laying it all out on the table.”

“Yes,” she replied, just to get Astra moving, despite feeling a sense of relief being lifted. Finally, someone would know everything. It concerned her, worried her, but at the same time, it felt freeing.

As soon as the bathroom door closed, Nesta stood quickly, hurrying to the back door. Making sure Enar didn’t follow, she closed the door quietly and ran as far as she could in the short amount of time she had, just until she found a clearing large and deserted enough to let her do what she needed to do.

Crashing to her knees, she closed her eyes, willed her walls down, and let go.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark chapter ahead. This entry is reminding folks why I have an "E" rating marking this fic. You've been warned.

Torin looked up from the fire just as a shadow cast against the swathes of sun bleeding into the cavern’s entry, the other men further in the folds of the stony hollows barely noticing the change.

“At ease,” a familiar roughened voice murmured, patting his shoulder as the male he’d come to know as Stian settled down beside him. He was different today, resembling less of the blacksmith he’d come to know him as and more the deadly warrior he suspected the secretive man was, underneath the subterfuge and skilled tactics of blending in. He still didn't know where he hailed from, what his story was, but he had a name now and that had to count for something. Still, something about him continued to prick at Torin's conscience, leaving him uneasy in the man's presence. “I’ve a friend for you to meet today.” He gestured behind him, making Torin tense and spin from where he sat, having heard nor felt another soul in their presence while lost in thought. Had he been losing his edge, or had the man just suddenly appeared? There was no trace of footsteps in the snow from where Stian had just walked in.

Laughter followed Torin's eyes, making him center it once more on the left section of the cavern entrance, as if knowing what he'd been thinking. Trepidation curled harshly in his gut, but he kept his expression stony, adopting the same look that his acquaintance across the fire wore. There, out of the shadows, stepped a robbed figure, not nearly as tall as the two of them, but nonetheless male. Settling by the campfire, where Torin stood guard, keeping a watchful eye on the quiet forest at their back as more and more men joined them and their secret threatened to get out, get back to the Inner Circle, the stranger cast his hood aside, revealing a shrewd set of steel grey eyes and blonde hair. Still, it wasn’t his expression that shocked him, but what the man was.

“A  _ mortal,  _ Stian? You bring a mortal into our cause?” He tried to keep his contempt out of his tone, but by the tightening smirk on the human’s lips, he knew he had failed. His acquaintance, the blacksmith, merely chuckled, the tone dark and sharp, scraping at Torin’s nerves. Enar’s voice rose from the back of his mind once more, as did the pleading soft whispers of Astrid and Gavin’s son, Hammund, setting Torin on edge as he waited for Stian to enlighten him why he believed a mortal, even one as rough-edged as this one, could help them.

“Not just any mortal, Torin. An _alchemist_ , as it were, from the lands below,” Stian replied, gesturing at the robed figure to demonstrate. Torin blinked, having never heard of the word, but when he turned towards the man, watching him coax the fire, only to pull a glowing core of ringed flames from the fire into his palm, stroking it like a mere pet, did his eyes widen. 

“Yes,” Stian murmured, catching Torin’s shocked stare. "One of _those,_ Torin." He turned, glancing towards the blacksmith, eyes remaining widened. He’d heard rumors, of course, of the mortals below the wall and beyond the passage of sea that possessed powers that frightened even the High Fae, but had never seen one, thinking the rumors as simply that - rumors and nothing more. Now, he suddenly realized there was much more to the stories, much more to the powers the humans were capable of wielding. Still, why was he here? What had Stian promised him? Didn’t he realize they were doing this to throw  _ off  _ the shackles of would-be oppressors?

“Is this wise?” He hissed, leaning forward, hoping the man’s sense of hearing didn’t extend beyond that of a normal human, suddenly feeling off kilter, despite having pledged his allegiance to Stian’s cause, overthrowing the Inner Circle and their control of the Illyrian mountains as a whole. He still felt guilt, leaving Astrid and Hammund in the care of a cousin, but as Stian’s demands became more crucial, he had felt at the time it was best to leave them for now. As he watched the robed man cradle the fire, then stare at Torin with an intensity that unnerved him, he once more wondered if his friend had been right. Was this wise, supporting a man he barely knew? 

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend, Torin. From the looks of it, we’ve got plenty of those now. Why stop in Illyria? You want your freedom from the General and his Spymaster, yes? Then accept the mortal’s help,” Stian murmured back, not bothering to quell the sound of his voice, making Torin scowl as the robed figure laughed.

“And what exactly will we owe him in repayment?” He quipped back, watching Stian’s eyes darken in anger. Before he could understand the sudden change in his mood, the man’s fist connected with his throat, cutting off his words, replacing them with shuddering coughs to suck air into his lungs. His mind exploded in shock at the power behind his hit, feeling blood well in the back of his mouth. 

“Are all your men so wary?” The robed figure asked, boredom lacing his tone as he stood up and came to stand beside Stian, looking down at Torin, who struggled not to choke on the well of blood in his mouth, threatening to suffocate him. Stian merely grunted, glaring down at him with a look of pure murder across his face, leering down at Torin as he struggled to grab his sword and defend himself. The crush of Stian’s boots pinched the nerves in his wrist, making him struggle to groan against the pain. A small burst of agony told him that the large male had shattered the bones of his wrist.

“Doesn’t  matter, does it? Can you do it or not?” Stian asked, tone defiant and flinty. The robed man smirked, murmuring a few words that felt strangely like a knife to Torin’s gut, threatening to unravel him. A scream bubbled past his lips and the robed man smiled, glancing back Stian’s way, as he felt himself lose part of who he was with man's words, feeling only weakness and desolation in it's wake. What was _happening?_

“Yes, as it seems, I can," he gestured to somewhere down south on Torin's body. He was too busy choking on his own blood to look, watching as Stian looked, grinned, then brought up his fist, Torin watching as his wrist sparked red, then his body twitched, seemingly growing stronger - in body and power. "When do you want the transfer completed?” 

“Now. I hit him just right, he won't last much longer. End it and give it to me, everything you can spare. The others further in the cave, let them live...for now. How long does it take to recover?” Stian asked, making Torin blink, fear creeping along his spine. What the hell was he talking about -- what transfer? Of what?  _ Him? _

“A few hours, at most,” the robed man shrugged, leaning down and laying a hand on his chest. Torin struggled, trying to fight, but only felt the business end of Stian’s other boot crush down on his wrist, sending agony trailing up his other limb. The robed man laughed, looking back at Stian, who merely stared at Torin like one does a pet one tires of -- or a calf being led to slaughter.

“You were supposed to help us,” Torin gurgled, eyes widening, as he heard the man began to murmur his spells once more. 

Stian merely smiled. “Who says I’m not doing that? I’ll end them, just like you wanted. You just didn’t realize I need  _ you _ to do the job, did you? What I'd ask for in the process? Be happy, young Torin. I'll make all your dreams come true...very soon. Too bad you won't be around to see it, hm?”

With that, he felt nothing more, dissolving under that robed man’s odd tongue, feeling himself losing to whatever ill-begotten magic the man spoke. Screaming, he faded to nothing, doing his best to apologize to everyone he had wronged by aiding this man to begin with.

_ Astrid, Hammmund, Enar -- I’m sorry. Forgive me. In trying to free us, I’ve unleashed the devil. _

His last conscious thought was of Stian’s laughter.

* * *

She heard a gasp behind her, shattering the silence of her small oasis with the sickening realization that someone had seen her unleash that power inside her. Whirling, she turned her gaze sharply towards the source of that sound -- Astra, standing on the snow-laden ground several yards behind her, eyes wide in shock and wonder.

Nesta tensed, slamming down that arctic mask she always used, waiting patiently for the disgust, revulsion and fear to come. It never did.

“Holy shit,” Astra breathed, then took off running -- towards her. Nesta stiffened, having not yet looked in the direction she willed that power, surprised to see as Astra came to settle down beside her that her clothes were tight and ill-fitted. Looking down, she frowned, trembling at the healthy glow of her fingernails and skin, then realized that she was back to her pre-alcoholic stage, before the cauldron had ravaged her figure, distorting her into something she hated and did her very best to ruin. 

_ What the fuck?  _ She thought, as she looked down and began rapidly threading her hands over her body. No more sharp protruding hip bones, deflated breasts, or branch-thin arms. She was once more herself, as close to her lush human form prior to submergence in that yawning pit of hell, and wondered what in the hell had exactly happened when she’d unleashed that power. She didn't remember much, just the all-encompassing burn of power unfurling inside her, exploding outward in a sea of white hot release.

“Are you okay? I saw you running for the forest and I was worried, and then I saw this blue flame, and then…. _holy fucking shit_. I’ve never seen _anything_ like that. I mean, I’ve heard of Death Gods, but you -- you’re High Fae, not one of them, right? Or are you?” Astra rambled, blurting out anything that came to mind, staring wide-eyed at Nesta as she inspected herself, trying not to let hysteria edge into her thoughts.

“I...don’t know,” she whispered, glancing back at Astra. “Why aren’t you terrified? I certainly am,” she admitted, watching as Astra reached out and stroked her cheek, making Nesta flinch. She blinked, turning her head, realizing her hair was longer, too. Not as long as before, but close. “What the _fuck_?” She shrieked, backing up a few steps, slipping in the wet snow beneath her boots.

Behind them, a soft boom shook the ground, and they both whirled. Nesta’s gut clamped in fear as she watched the tall pines slowly wither and die, first in shards of brown, useless needles falling from dead limbs, littering the snow and turning it shades of brown, then in the way the tall trunks cracked then broke entirely, slammed into the ground, unsettling snow and dirt alike.

“Oh  _ God, _ ” she whispered, eyes wide as Astra tried to reach for her and help her stand. “Don’t touch me!” She screamed, fully hysterical now, backpedaling even as she heard Enar’s voice behind them both, shouting from the cabin, where he'd most likely heard the sound and found them missing.

“You won’t hurt me,” Astra said, her tone firm, as she reached again for Nesta’s shoulder. Nesta simply sat there, eyes wide at the devastation she had caused, watching as at least twenty trees nearby buckled under the burden of their now dead weight. When Astra’s fingers brushed Nesta’s, she jerked, but didn’t feel a flicker of that power from before, realizing she’d satisfied it somehow. Astra grinned, tightening her grip, then helped Nesta stand.

“The forest,” she whispered, frowning deeply, feeling Astra turn just as Enar swooped down beside them, landing heavily next to them and barking their names as they stood and watched the timber continue to fall.

“We needed the firewood anyways,” Astra offered, shrugging a shoulder, as the trees continued to crash, making it almost hard to hear her over Enar's roar. “Winter is setting in. It's just as well we use these.”

“ _ **Nesta! Astra!** _ What in the name of the  _ cauldron _ are you doing this far away from the cabin without telling me! General Cassian would have my head! Not to mention that….” He trailed off, eyes wide, as he grabbed their wrists and tugged them both back just in time to avoid a falling tree limb from one of the pines where they had just been standing. Nesta scowled, rubbing the sore spot on her wrist from where he'd just yanked her back, continuing on with his tangent. “What the _hell_ is going on? What’s….” He trailed off again as he caught sight of Nesta, eyes bugging wide once more at the change in her appearance.

Nesta wrenched out of both their grasps, knowing Enar's shock was much like Astra's still was, feeling both their stunned glances at the changes in her body. She didn't know what to make of it anymore than they did, feeling uncomfortable as their eyes roamed over her form. 

“Stop staring at me like that!” She hissed, stomping past them, not meeting their eyes, before whirling, throwing her hands out, gesturing at herself in disgust from where they stood, staring at her with a dumb-founded expression. “Fine, _there it is!_ Now you know what I am! Nesta the damned cauldron-turned freak! I  _ consume  _ things, okay? I can’t control it and it scares the shit out of me. I don’t want people to know me because of  _ that! _ ” She shrieked, gesturing wildly to the half-mile slice of land she’d just managed to kill in under sixty seconds. “Does that make you feel better? Getting me to admit I’m this... _ thing? _ ”

Astra and Enar blinked, looking between themselves, as Nesta panted, waiting for them to react with anything other than -- was that  _ laughter _ she heard?

Enar was the first to break the silence, grinning so hard she thought his jaw would crack. Astra suddenly pitched forward, holding onto his arm, as she chuckled. They both shook their heads, walking towards her, looking so damned _comfortable_ with her darkest secret that she didn't quite not how to respond. She blinked, backing up a few steps, bristling at their seemingly jovial acceptance of what she was. 

“Nesta the Death God, huh?” Enar asked, tipping his head to the side, inspecting her slowly with his eyes in a friendly, teasing way while he stroked his chin. “It  _ does _ sort of have a ring to it, don't you think?" He asked, glancing over towards Astra before looking back at Nesta with an amused smile. "Definitely better than the Ice Princess title I’ve heard used a few times in the square.”

“Right?” Astra commented, stepping forward and slinging an arm around Nesta, tugging her back towards the house, sharing a smile with Enar. “But just in case, let’s keep the Death God comments to a minimum, alright?”

Nesta blinked, shrugging them both off, when Enar went to grab her elbow and usher her back to the house with them both. “Are you two _insane_? Have you suddenly lost your minds? I just  _ ate the life force out of those trees!  _ How do you know I won’t do it to you?” She hated the way she sounded, frightened and hysterical as she stepped back, her pulse roaring in her ears as she stared at them incredulously but it was how she felt, all walls shattered and turned to dust inside her, unsure of what to do next. 

“You know, I heard about what happened to you,” Enar muttered at her side, coming to stand beside her and tug her along, hand gentle on her shoulder, Astra doing the same. Nesta stared, turning and following along, saying nothing for the longest time.  _They knew? What happened to me?_

“So, unless I’m mistaken, you’ve had this in you that whole time since you’ve been turned," Enar rambled on, ushering her with a gentleness that would have angered her before, but she was so lost, she simply followed along as they led her back towards the cabin. "You haven’t hurt me since I met you, Miss Archeron, so I trust you to know what you’re doing with whatever that thing gave you. You’re strong, that I’ve no doubt of. Come on, let’s get your cleaned up, changed, and your hair cut again, before too many people ask questions we don’t have the answers to. I'm guessing you're not wanting to broadcast these abilities of yours, which is smart. The less who know, the better.”

“You don’t know that! You shouldn't trust me, _I_ don't trust _myself_ ,” Nesta hissed, referring to his comment that she wouldn't hurt them, jerking once more out of their grip, turning and staring back at the devastation she caused, not willing to meet their eyes. “Once, I...killed someone," she blurted out, hearing them go quiet. "I can’t guarantee I won’t do it again.” She turned, staring at them both, watching their amused expressions turn serious at her admittance.

“What’d he do?” Enar finally asked, tilting his head to the side. Astra nodded, stepping closer, making Nesta bristle, eyes widening. They continued to stand there, watching her with a flicker of concern, making her shake her head in shock that they weren't running in fear, actually asking her if _she_ was okay, asking what the victim to this death touch did to deserve it, when she all but admitted to them that she was a murderer. 

“ _ What? _ ” She asked, her tone as brusque as she could make it. “What are you implying?” It didn't matter that she felt comfortable with the term killer when it came to defending her family or those she loved. When she'd seen Cassian get hurt, her sisters get hurt, killing was the only option she felt was deserved for what they tried. But the way  _this one_ had happened, not in war, but in simple reflex, too reminiscent of the time before when she'd been nearly unable to stop it, scared her to her soul. How could they know?

“What did he do, Nesta?” Astra asked softly, as Enar went quiet. Nesta swallowed, her eyes narrowing, even as pain bloomed in her chest, but even then - the power inside her was silent, satisfied for now. “He must have hurt you very badly for you to go there.” Briefly, Astra glanced back at Enar, who nodded and began to walk away, as if sensing he was worried she'd be uncomfortable to admit it in his presence, but Nesta sighed and squeezed her eyes shut, encouraging him to stay. He'd seen her at her worst, what would it hurt now to tell them the truth?

“Stop, Enar.”

She heard the crunch of snow cease, telling her her had stopped like she asked. Opening her eyes, she glanced between the two of them, sighing and rubbing a hand at that ache in her chest. “He...tried to...rape me. It wasn’t the first time that had happened to me, but I still reacted like I did that first time, and….” She trailed off, shrugging helplessly, turning her eyes away, shocked once more to feel a scald of tears dancing against her eyelids. “That time I couldn’t stop it. I was so _scared_ , it was like I was back in that place, when T-Thomas...so I…”

“Killed the piece of shit,” Enar snarled, making Nesta blink and look back his way. The man shrugged, spitting on the ground. “Good riddance to that garbage.”

Nesta stared, shocked at his rage on her behalf, her throat too tight to say anything, watching Astra launch herself forward with a spread of her wings, enclosing her in a tight hug. She weakly returned it, taking a shuddering breath. No judgements, no screaming accusations followed, and she sighed as a phantom tension eased off her shoulders.

“I’ve never...told anyone...any of this…” She whispered, wiping at her face, glancing between the two of them. “Please don’t tell anyone, especially Cassian. I’d rather...be the one...to tell him. _If_ I choose to tell him.”

“Lady, your secret is safe with me,” Enar smiled, just as she heard Astra’s agreement from where she hugged her tightly.

“Of course we won’t breathe a word of this. I’m just so sorry you had to experience all that in your life. As if the cauldron wasn’t bad enough, to go through that...I’ve no words. Your secret is safe with me and I’m honored you trusted me enough to tell me,” Astra assured her, pulling back to tug on Nesta’s lengthened hair. Nesta finally smiled, meaning the expression, and let them both drag her back to the cabin to hopefully cover up what her power had done to her.

 

* * *

“ _ Deserters?  _ Are you  _ serious? _ ” Rhysand asked, his power briefly dimming the bright blades of sun that spilled through the open windows, casting the room in a shadow mixed with stars.

“Unfortunately,” Cassian replied, looking at Feyre’s empty chair. He frowned, glancing back Rhysand’s way, studying his best friend for signs of stress - past the now known deserters. “Where’s Feyre? Is everything alright with the child?”

“She’s fine, as is the babe. Visiting some Artist friends with Ellain,” Rhysand waved a hand, a dark look still cast over his face as he seemed to focus on what Azriel and Cassian had told him, the Spymaster still standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall. These days, a restlessness seemed to permeate the Shadow Singer’s mannerisms since he began helping him root out the problems in the mountains, not allowing him to settle into his seat alongside the others like before, but every time he tried to ask Azriel what was wrong, the male merely shrugged it off. “Where do you think they’re going? _Hiding_ , more like it,” Rhysand asked, canting his head between his two commanding officers, the expression on his face just short of dangerous.

Cassian and Azriel shared a glance, shrugging a shoulder. “Winter is setting in, my bet is a cavern system. The woods are too cold and inhospitable at the moment to try and build a new campsite, and the one Feyre commissioned remains deserted. Azriel had a contact check it out, just to be safe.”

Rhysand frowned, his violet eyes growing sharp. “We’ve hundreds of those in the mountains. Any inkling on what area they’d hole up in?”

“Not right now, no. Azriel can spare some trackers, we can start there, but they won't get a firm trail until the morning, most likely. We’ve also got to check these other war camps out that Worolf named for us,” Cassian replied, handing over the parchment from Jeric and the journal from the war chief himself. “Worolf is as furious at his son’s and young warriors actions as you are. He gave full permission to hold him to whatever choice you decide.”

“Death isn’t the answer, nor will it help me when the Mortal Queens push to act,” Rhysand snarled, the room growing darker, “We keep getting word they want to move in at the High Lord meetings but no one has been able to gather enough evidence to find when and where it'll happen. No matter how tempting, we can't afford to penalize them that way. I need the bodies, as it were. Still, when you find them, I expect them _here_. They  _ will  _ suffer for this, but killing them won’t be allowed. If I have to, I’ll…”

_ Use your daemanti powers,  _ Cassian’s head supplied, meeting Azriel’s dark gaze across the room, seeing the Spymaster’s nod of approval. “That’s fine,” He said, knowing Rhysand had went quiet, busy reading Worolf’s notes, but also testing for their approval in what he might have to do. Rhysand smiled, the action predatorial, as he read on.

“I’ll visit these war camps myself and a few others. It’s high time I make my presence known, remind them why they shouldn't fuck with me. You two, scour the mountains. These  _children_  will answer to the stability they threaten to undermine,” Rhysand growled, dark power rumbling, before finally drawing it back, the darkness in the room dissipating, making Cassian squint against the sun that had been previously dimmed in the room.

Azriel pushed off the wall, trailing near Cassian as he nodded in agreement at Rhysand's words, tugging loose a map off the wall to splay across the table, marking where the villages that had been thus far identified to be losing able-bodied warriors. “Here, here...and here...is where the most loss has occurred. I hate to say it, but we need to push the women to the new camp, get them away and begin training in the event the men can’t be found. If and when the Mortal Queens act, I’d like as many ready as we can have, and don't have the patience to push the men of the camps to allow it.”

“Agreed,” murmured Cassian, glancing at the mountain ranges noted nearby. Grimacing at the range - one he was intimately familiar with, given it was the region of his ill-reputed birth - he rubbed a hand across his brow and shook his head. “There’s literally hundreds of cavern systems in these mountains. I know, I've looked there." He didn't mention _why_ he looked, trying to find the bones of his mother, from where he'd all but torn that war camp he had been birthed in to cinder and ash. "It’ll take weeks of searching to find them.  I can help mark some of them as an impasse, given their size and position to the Northen winds, but...it's going to take time.”

“Take the rest of the day to pack your bags and start fresh tomorrow,” Rhysand snapped, slamming the journal closed and tucking it under an arm. “I don’t care if how many caverns there are,  _ find them _ . We don’t have weeks, Cassian. You should know those mountains well enough. Get them out and in front of me, no matter what it takes.”

Cassian blinked, scowling at Rhysand’s rigid frame. “Hell, Rhys, I know that,” he started, dropping off when Rhysand held up a hand and simply took off, winnowing away. “Fuck,” he replied, running a vicious hand through his hair, slamming his fist down on the table. He knew why Rhysand was angry, but he didn't like feeling like the helpless boy he once had been. He wished he'd pushed harder in the past, when he visited the war camps, wish he'd done anything short of murder to get the name of this wanderer who was causing so much trouble. _If only  I'd...._

“He’s just as frustrated as you are, don't take it personally,” Azriel reminded him with a murmur, forcing him out of his thoughts, glancing towards the Shadow Singer. Suddenly, a softened look entered his dark eyes, and Azriel tugged the map loose from underneath Cassian’s fingers, rolling it up and vanishing it into shadow. “Take the rest of the night off, go see Nesta. It might be a while before we’re settled again, until this business is taken care of.”

Cassian bristled, angered to think that Azriel thought he was taking this less serious than anyone else. He had suffered from the Illyrian’s strangled caste system probably worse than anyone outside of maybe Azriel himself, so to hear his best friend tell him to relax and take the night off rankled him. Just as he was opening his mouth to bite back a scathing reply, Azriel pinned him with another dark stare, making him instantly clam up with what the man said next.

“Claim her, Cass. Who knows where things will take us.”

Surprise reflected over his face as Azriel stared back, then quietly vanished into shadow, map in tow. Staring into space, thinking of Nesta, he finally stood, heading towards the open level that would take him to his cabin - to _her._

_ Claim her, Cass,  _ Azriel’s words reminded him, making him fly all that faster. Perhaps, for once, his friend was right. Why was he waiting?   
  



	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me fifteen chapters and 60K+ words, but the smut is finally here. Enjoy.

“Phew!” Astra sighed, flinging her sweaty frame into a chair at the gathering table, slumping across the wooden tabletop in an unladylike fashion. If Nesta wasn’t so worn out, she would have laughed at the sight, but at the present moment she was too busy fighting for breath to do much more than snort.

“You got your ass kicked just as good as I did, you know,” Astra reminded her, smirking her way and watching as Nesta reached up, unwinding the tightly-bound scarf from her head, her longer locks tumbling loose. “At least I can talk, so it’s safe to say, I think even _I_ bested you this afternoon with what Devlon threw at us. And to think, he said _tomorrow_ is going to be tough. If I wasn't so tired, I'd slap him.”

Nesta shot Astra a scowl at her declaration that she'd beat her in training today, but it was a lighthearted one, and Astra’s grin her way confirmed she knew she meant it as such. Rubbing a hand through her damp hair, she sighed and rolled her shoulders, struggling to find her voice. Devlon had ridden them hard - _all_ of them - thankfully avoiding calling out Nesta singularly, even though he’d shot her hate-filled scowls most of the afternoon. Strangely enough, as the day was called to a close, he seemed a minute measure more soft around her by the time they broke for the evening. He even left her with a backhanded compliment as she struggled to stalk off the field, telling her as she moved past him _‘Not half bad, even for an untrained Ice Princess.’_ The remembered comment made her half smile, though she kept it mostly banked. Tomorrow, he’d sworn to up the ante, and Astra had groaned as they marched away, Enar at their heels. He'd been at the sidelines all day, keeping a close watch over them both, no doubt to Cassian's demand, but it was nice. He didn't look begrudged to do it, almost enthusiastic when she'd catch his eye and see his smile or a simple thumb slipping upwards in a show of solidarity. Now, he was stationed outside, but told them both that he was starving and to hurry up with dinner, since watching them had made him work up an appetite. Both of them and flipped him off before stalking inside and slamming the door in his face, but grinned at each other as they heard his laughter through the door as he moved to guard the house on the covered porch.

“Your hair looks nice like that,” Astra commented, clearly having picked up on Nesta’s thoughts as she thumbed through the locks, both worried and pleased most of her hair had returned. Nesta looked back her way, keeping her face schooled for the most part, but finally allowed a sliver of a smile to escape when Astra grinned her way. Earlier, when they’d returned to the cabin and had staggered into her room to shove her in all the boney corsets she owned to try and hide the fact her frame was much fuller than it had been hours before, Astra had moved to cut her locks once more but Nesta had stopped her. Shrugging, Astra reached for a scarf and proceeded to hide her newfound hairstyle in a tightly capped look and Devlon nor the other women had questioned it, and as the day wore on, Nesta was able to briefly forget what had happened in the woods and that she was mostly whole again, outside of the secret of her gift being now shared amongst two people, rather than just herself. Her newfound constitution certainly helped her in training, keeping her stamina in place for what Devlon did next, but for once, she was grateful for the back-breaking physical exertion to learn to move with a sword, shield, and be impeded by small bags of sand tied to her wrists and ankles. She would never admit it, but she liked the training. It took every ounce of her focus and cleared her thoughts of less-welcome distractions, like how she was going to tell Cassian about the changes in her body, address the way she suspected she'd felt for him for a long time but had denied it, and how thoroughly damaged she was in regards to her own well-being or those around her who cared for her.

“Thanks,” she replied back, biting back a sigh, curling one strand around her finger. _I'm a mess,_ she thought, glancing down over her form,  _even if by all outward appearances I look healthy. We all know the rot sinks deeper than that._ Part of her had logically thought that this would be another way to explain her newfound appearance to Azriel and Cassian, who were bound to notice the changes in her body, but another, quieter portion of her hoped Cassian liked it. He’d complimented her on her hair before and when she’d cut it off in a fit of rage, wondered briefly if he thought her less attractive for it. Almost immediately, she shoved the thought away, gritting her teeth at how she was mooning about him after just a few short days together. _I don't love him. I **don't.**_ It unnerved her how unconvinced her own conscience was with such a statement, deciding to not think on it further, glancing Astra's way. Still, she couldn’t forget the feel of him in her hands, the way his mouth moved on hers, or the way his calloused fingers flung her into an orgasm so intense, she felt cheated that she’d never felt that before with any of her past lovers.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Astra questioned her as she met Nesta's stare with an open, friendly one of her own before standing and making her way into the kitchen after stretching her shoulders with a wince. "Something is rumbling around in your head, and from what I'm able to tell, it isn't good."

“Just trying to figure out how I’m going to explain this,” she gestured to her body and hair, turning to look out the window at the dead treeline in the distance, “...and that.”  _And figure out why I let my life turn into such a disaster._

“Just show him,” Astra supplied helpfully, reaching into the icebox to withdraw the makings of dinner as Nesta stood, coming over to help, dragging out a few pots and placing them above the heated fireplace. She snorted, shooting Astra a cool look, at what she suggested. How was she supposed to do that?

“I’ve killed enough things today, don’t you think?” She replied, watching Astra blink and raise an eyebrow. Just uttering out loud what she did earlier made her shudder and look out the window, gesturing to the trees.

“Have you ever tried - you know - turning it the other way?” Astra asked, tipping her head to the side. Nesta blinked, looking back her way. “You told me earlier you were able to siphon off General Cassian’s power without harming him, but...instead of killing something, why not give it life instead? Or does it not work like that?”

Nesta blinked, her eyebrows raising. “I...don’t know,” she answered honestly, but felt fear stir in her again at the thought of trying and failing, her expression closing off, growing cold. “And it’s not worth the risk to anyone.”

Astra snorted, the sound reminiscent of one Nesta had previously made, and she leaned down, rummaging in the shelf space in the back of the kitchen, placing the potted plant from the bathroom on the countertop, dead leaves and all, gesturing to it. Nesta froze, saying nothing, her voice dying in her throat, wondering when Astra had found it.

“I saw this the other day and put it in here, intending to take it out and clean it, since I could use the leaves for my tea, but now I know better, figuring this was your doing. Why not try on this? What’s the harm?”

Nesta blinked, looking Astra’s way. _What’s the harm? I could hurt you, or Enar. I ate an entire portion of the forest earlier. Are you kidding?_

Astra reached over, squeezing her hand, even when by all outward appearances, Nesta was being her typical frigid self. She bristled, almost uncomfortable with how easily Astra could root out her true feelings under all the icy layers heaped into her expression. “You won’t hurt me or Enar,” she murmured, smiling, making Nesta nearly flinch, catching herself at the last moment, watching Astra’s dark eyes soften with kindness. “Try it. I’ll be here, preparing dinner.”

Nesta let out a sharp exhale, glancing back at the plant. Weighing Astra's words, she finally sighed and decided to heed her friend's words. She didn't trust herself, she wasn't that stupid, but she realized she trusted her friend. If Astra believed she wouldn't harm her, she had to prove that fact true. If things got out of control, she would stop it - somehow.

Frowning, she searched inside, having not restored those barriers from before, when the gift felt satisfied. Reaching for the plant, she closed her eyes and shifted uncomfortably on her feet and  _reached._ She felt it, then - that gift, unfurling inside her, soft and pleasant and warm, not harsh like before. It purred, nipping at her phantom senses only once or twice, as if hurt, but forgiving, and she blinked, her eyes opening in shock. It almost felt like it was upset, neglected, and she frowned and focused her internal voice and asked it for help.

 _I’m sorry,_ she said on instinct, feeling rather silly talking to her gift like it was some foreign entity knotted into her blood, but did it all the same, not understanding what else to do, closing her eyes again. _You...scare me. What are you?_

Nothing answered, but she stiffened when she felt a light bloom in her chest, then turn dark, only to brighten again. Over and over, the colors exploded, then faded, puzzling her even more. It was trying to tell her something, or her subconscious was, but she couldn't make heads or tails of the color display singing through her thoughts. Exasperated, she shook her head, then tried asking again, changing her question. _This makes no sense to me. Nevermind. I killed that forest. Can you return this plant to me to make up for what I did?_

Instantly, her fingers tingled, growing warm, and she dimly heard Astra gasp. As soon as the sensation faded, she opened her eyes, feeling that power inside her curl back into a satisfied slumber, almost growing so still, she barely felt it, and looked down.

There, on the countertop, was a perfectly healthy living plant. She glanced at Astra, who stared at her with an awestruck expression, and faintly smiled.

"It seems you were right," she murmured, staring at the plant. 

"Nah," Astra said, shaking her head, "that was all you, girl. I just gave you the nudge you needed." Patting her shoulder, Astra smiled and gestured to the dinner trappings she had started. "Want to help finish dinner with me?"

* * *

 

“You two would put a man in serious jeopardy of damaging his warrior figure, if allowed,” Enar commented over a forkful of grilled steak, greens, and spiced potatoes, closing his eyes with a joy that was only brought on by very good food.

Astra preened, making Nesta smile faintly, despite her best intentions not to, still uncomfortable with the sensation that every emotion was now emblazoned across her face for all to witness, but with what they’d shared together that afternoon and neither had turned away from her, she couldn’t help it. “I’m glad you like our cooking skills, Enar. It was one of my sister’s favorites, the potatoes. It’s been a little hard to mimic here, with your food, but I finally figured it out. The steak you’ll have to thank Astra for.”

“I’d marry you if you kept making food like this,” Enar commented towards her friend, making Nesta laugh faintly as she watched Astra color. Astra’s eyes flashed to Nesta’s and she hid a grin behind her cup, knowing that her friend had other plans regarding a certain Spymaster.

“Quit trying to seduce the one friend I have in this camp, Enar,” Nesta bantered his way, reaching for her napkin and tossing it towards his face, steering him off a course to embarrass her friend and make things uncomfortable. “You’ve been able to watch plenty of women in that ring. Not all of them are spoken for, either. Can’t one of _them_ tickle your fancy instead of Astra?”

Enar rolled his eyes, muttering something no doubt incorrigible under his breath, but the faint smile of gratitude sent her way by Astra had her smiling back.

“So tell me about your life below the wall,” Astra suddenly asked, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table, eyes gleaming. “And leave nothing out. I’ve never met a human before, even if you're no longer one.”

“ _Never?”_ Nesta blinked, eyebrows raising. “What about in Velaris?”

“Never been,” she replied back, shrugging a shoulder, and the excited gleam in her eyes told Nesta that while Astra was fierce in her own way, she was also young and sheltered. A pang filled her chest, the expression on her friend's face suddenly reminding her of her younger sister, Elain, and she glanced over at Enar to hopefully hide the brief darkening of her expression, since she knew she could barely hold up that mask anymore - not with them. He simply studied her, seemingly as curious as Astra, though better at hiding it than her newfound friend. It took her a moment to compose herself, but she eventually cast them both a faint smile.

“It wasn’t nearly as magical as here. Besides, like I told you, I’m afraid it isn’t a pleasant one and really, I’d rather not ruin our meal,” Nesta hedged, shrugging a shoulder again and sipping from her cup, watching them both roll their eyes.

“We’re not going to judge you, for the last bloody time,” Enar spat out, surprising Nesta with his vehemence. “Out with it. Tell us about yourself, Death God from the Cauldron. We ain't scared of you.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes at the title he gave her, but Enar grinned back, silently goading her in a brutish, friendly way. She straightened her shoulders, setting aside her glass, and ran a hand through her hair, knowing they both wouldn't stop pestering her until she spilled every last one of her secrets. Since they'd seen what she could do earlier, what harm would it be to tell them everything? “Alright, _fine._ I was born, with my sisters, into a wealthy merchant class. My mother, a commoner, was of lesser stock than my father, but young and pretty, and my father wanted heirs to pass his fortune to, or that’s at least how the story went at the time, though I’m wiser now. Unfortunately for him, fate had a way of ruining that for him; giving him three daughters and no sons, a vapid, shallow wife, and a sudden bad taste for business. By the time I was ten, my mother was dead, but not without leaving a distinct impression of all that I absolutely hated about women of her nature,” she commented bitterly, sipping on her drink.

Astra listened with a kind expression, a kindred softness in her eyes, and Nesta felt some relief at another woman who hated others of their gender who felt their only importance in life was their social calendars, or in her friend’s instance, what they meant to their men. Enar simply stared, raising an eyebrow in curiosity, and she continued, plucking at her half-eaten plate.

“My mother cared nothing for me and my sisters, treating us all like a cross to bear, an unwanted burden that was part of her marriage contract to my father. I spent the most time with my mother, out of my three sisters, so I grew to despise her. I was able to shelter them, in a way, honing all her horrible attention on me, so there's some peace I gain from that. Sadly, she taught me one fundamental lesson I've never forgotten: how to hate someone you’re supposed to love and depend on, and I became damned good at it. I wanted a mother who cared about her daughter, who didn’t want to trade her off like chattel to-to…” She shuddered, closing her eyes.

“Was it your mother that secured you to the man who first hurt you?” Enar asked softly, making Nesta blink and open her eyes. She shook her head, frowning and gazing into her cup, hearing the crackle of the hearth fire behind her before she finally answered.

“Not in that way, but she did introduce me to others, who hurt me in less meaningful ways. I was only ten, but my mother wanted _prestige_ , past whatever my father could give her. I was brought to cities, presented to the upper crust of society, far below what traditional age most girls were first introduced to eligible men were, but she was tenacious in her desire to not only be a rich merchant’s wife, but the mother-in-law of someone who bore something she couldn’t buy, a title. It didn't matter what age I was, so long as she got what she wanted. It didn't matter that I was fondled, touched, teased at, told I was beautiful but too willful, so long as I kept my mouth shut and did what was asked of me.”

Enar muttered a vile curse underneath his breath and Astra stared, swallowing, her dark eyes glistening. She understood where this story was going and Nesta nodded, forcing herself to eat a few more swallows of food. “She paraded me around, like some living doll, and I was stared at like I was a corked wine, waiting for the proper year that the men my mother showed me to could taste my vintage.” She twisted her lips into a dark smile. “I was taught the only important thing in life was what I could offer a man between my legs. Heirs and an occasional fuck, so long as I didn’t complain.”

Enar said nothing and Astra and Nesta turned their gaze his way, watched him squirm, his eyes lowering and turning elsewhere. She began to suspect he suddenly understood and empathized with Cassian’s demands that women be treated as equals - something Nesta prided him on, even if she never said it with words, picking up on the changes he was trying to make when she studied the sword with the other women. It made her sick to think that even here - in the cold mountainous regions of a land filled with magical, immortal creatures, life was eerily similar to the horrors of human peerage. The mortal world and the Fae world, it seemed, weren't so different after all.  

“But, as luck would have it, before I was properly offered for, my mother fell ill, my father lost all our fortune, and the people I’d tried so hard to appease so I could assure safety and security for my family shunned us. We were forced to the village Lord Tamlin, that sorry excuse for a High Lord, found us, and I….” She struggled to say what came next, lowering her eyes to the table, tracing the patterns of the stained wood. “I was _so mad_ at my mother, at my father for so thoroughly giving up, at _myself_ for what I’d allowed my mother to shape me into, so unprepared for the new life we'd been given, I...didn’t help Feyre when she needed it most. I wanted to drown myself in my own self-hated, damaging my relationship with her in order to do so. I hated that they hated me, but at the same time...I felt like I deserved it. I wish I could say the emotion’s improved, but….” She shrugged, reaching for her glass and sipping on her drink.

“And then I was cast into that pit and made into this-- _thing_. Fate, once again, showed me what a stone cold bitch she is,” Nesta thought bitterly, her fingers tight around her glass. “It couldn’t have let me starve in that village, or be raped by a village boy who claimed he wanted to be my intended, only to learn he wanted to fuck me, even when I said no, nor when I was cast into that pit and made into something I didn’t want to be.”

“Your anger fueled you,” Astra murmured, catching Nesta’s gaze. She nodded, swallowing, feeling that power inside her blossom, surprising her by blanketing her insides with a soft, cool touch of something she least expected - _comfort._

“It was simply all I had in me that was strong enough to fight. Feyre has always had her indomitable will. Elain her kindness. Me? I had my endless wells of rage. When I was in there…” She shuddered, closing her eyes, shaking her head, a grimace twisting her features before she could school it out properly, wincing in the process of trying to, before she felt comfortable opening her eyes, meeting both their stares - stared filled with something she never thought would ever be directed her way, empathy. “...I can’t describe it. Even thinking about it gives me nightmares and threatens to unravel something in me I won’t get back. I was insanely furious. At _it_ , at fate, at _everything_. I was determined not to be a victim, not then, not now, not _ever_ , and I….took something from it when it tried shaping me without my permission.” She grinned faintly at the memory, the expression wolfish, seeing how the others stared at her, awe and a trace of wariness in her eyes, and felt pleased for it. “I made it regret it’s actions. It's probably the singular thing in my life I'm proud of, even if the cost was...high.”

She fell silent, staring into her cup, gesturing to herself and the changes in her appearance. A silence descended in the room and she almost laughed, the curbed noise echoing inside her head with acerbity, knowing that her story would ruin the evening, just like she said it would, but when she heard the thud of a familiar pattern of footsteps, she stiffened, realizing she had assumed wrongly on why they'd gone quiet. Jerking her face up, she blinked, eyes briefly going wide, gawking as Cassian stood there, expression grim, staring straight at her. 

 _Fuck,_ her mind raced, while she struggled to ease her shock and panic.  _How much did he hear?_

“If you two are finished with dinner, do you mind if I borrow Nesta?” He asked, his voice low and tense, like warmed steel, his hazel eyes unflinchingly meeting her own. Nesta stared, relieved to feel that mask firmly slip back in place, even if he had been able to catch a glimpse of her panic for the briefest of moments, refusing to let him see how anxious she was, even as her palms sweated against her glass.  _Don't let him know you saw,_ she told herself,  _don't let him see your panic. Don't let him know it unnerves you to think he heard your story._

“Actually, it’s a good time to get back to my brother,” Astra commented, rising quickly, tugging Enar to a stand with her. “Enar, do you mind walking me home?”

“Not a problem,” Her bodyguard muttered, hurrying out the door with Astra, latching onto her friend's excuse as a means to escape the sudden tension that filled the room as Cassian stared unflinchingly at her, forcing her to hold his gaze, refusing to be the one who broke it, fearing it would indicate weakness to him. She felt positively sick, thinking he’d heard everything she’d said, but refused to let him see it.

 _You make me feel so out of control,_ she weakly thought, taking in his impressive stance as he stood there, after the door shut behind her friend and her bodyguard, gesturing to the table. “Dinner?” She coolly offered, noting the empty chairs and bowls of food still left, even with the healthy dent they’d placed in the offerings earlier. “No sense in wasting it.”

* * *

 

Cassian stared, his blood roaring in his ears as he stared at the outwardly cold female sitting at the table in front of him. He saw the way she closed up, sensing she did it because she feared  he heard her story and considered her weak. He noted her changed appearance from the window, shocked and spurred to the door to demand why she looked so damned _gorgeous_ , returned to the woman he loved and craved from before, yet somehow all that more beautiful and fierce in his eyes, but stopped and immediately went as still as a stone when he heard her begin her story. Stilling, he stood there, staring at her from the kitchen window in the frigid temperatures of the winter weather, just to hear what he could about the one person who had begun to mean more to him than anything had in his life, ever.

He had heard it - _all_ of it - and was humbled by the strength of her. To come out of the Cauldron like she was, after the life she'd had - _She said she’d stolen something, what was it?_  - was insanely brave. He nodded at her suggestion to eat, tugging off his bracers and cloak and setting them aside, picking the empty seat next to her, watching her stiffen but say nothing, just coolly meeting his gaze with an expressionless one of her own, and he stifled the frustration that lanced through him, bitterness briefly stabbing through his emotions that she’d open up to her friend and her bodyguard, but not him.

 _It’s because you have the capacity to hurt her the most,_ his conscience reminded him, watching her eyes darken as he leaned forward and began filling his plate, her eyes betraying her as they traced his every move. He forced himself to appear unaffected at her arctic expression, starting to eat as she merely stared at his plate of food. Amused, he finally motioned for her to refill her plate and join him. "Don't just stare, babe. Eat with me." It showed how flustered she was that she did so without question or flippant response, demurely tumbling more dinner food onto her plate from the serving platters and tamely eating next to him, the only sounds from her being the scrape of knife and fork against her plate.

“How was your day?” He asked, deciding to start on easy, safe subjects.

“Training was successful,” she commented quietly, making him stare at her profile as she ate, staring straight ahead, refusing to meet his gaze. He bit back the urge to sigh, almost more angry at himself in that moment than her, for coming inside and interrupting that openness he'd just seen on her face when she was with her friend and bodyguard, but willed it down.  _Ah, darling, just trust me. Open up to me. I swear I won't hurt you, love._

“Oh?” He asked softly, tipping his head to the side and continuing to stare straight at her, praying she would look his way, disappointed when she didn’t, but he let it slide. “What did you learn today?”

“How to swing, defend, and parry with added tension,” she supplied, swallowing a forkful of greens and reaching for her glass, taking a slow sip.

“Ah, the sandbags,” he commented with a grin, lounging back in his chair, watching her tense when he spread his body, his thighs only a hand's length away from hers. He allowed his eyes to lower over her, noting the tight bands of a corset, or several, bracing her stomach and breasts. It amused and pleased him she responded as easily to his presence as he did to hers, noting the changes in her form. Immediately, he felt arousal spur inside him as he noted the added soft sturdiness to her frame, turning his blood hot and his insides into a tangled mess. What the hell had happened this afternoon? Clearly, he'd missed something important, but he couldn't deny the changes pleased him. Even his cock stood at attention at the changes, pressing painfully against his brais as he found himself imaging what her breasts would look and feel like now in his hands, or even better yet, his mouth. “And you fared well, I assume? Devlon maintained his distance and his teeth? I insinuated to Enar to pommel him into oblivion if he hurt you again.”

That made Nesta’s lips briefly twitch in a tease of a smile, but she quickly schooled it, busying herself with sipping and then refilling her cup with water from the pitcher on the table. As she moved, nodding and going into depth over her day while he ate, he found himself struggling to listen, embarrassed to admit that all he wanted to do in that moment was drag her out of her chair and onto his lap, unfasten his brais, and slide inside her until he spurt, preferably while she milked his cock with her own orgasm.  _For Cauldron's sake, get a fucking grip,_ he told himself, still staring.  _You'll just scare her away if you act too roughly. Didn't you just hear her story and how the men in her life have treated her thus far? Acting like a bond-driven maniac will only make things worse._

“You seem to be getting along well with your friend,” he commented, his voice hoarse, fighting with his instincts. He tried softening his tone but failed, no doubt sounding angry or rough, at least he hoped it did, praying she didn’t guess what he’d been thinking as he stared at her discuss her day while sipping at her water and idly swallowing bits of food while they ate. If she knew the _real_ reason he sounded like that, she’d freeze him out or maybe do something worse, and staring at her figure, his cock screamed at the idea in protest. _Patience,_ he told his body, keeping his expression warm when her eyes flickered his way.  _All in due time._

Nesta smiled faintly once more when their eyes met before looking away and again he bit the inside of his cheek to avoid grabbing her, his fingers clenching around his drinking glass in reflex. Hearing her confessions to her friends had enlightened him to several things about her character and it only made him want her more. The emotion in her face made his cock harden uncomfortably inside his clothes, scorching him into dangerously hot depths of lust, even more than the changes in her appearance. He remembered the bath, that scorch of heat, that flash of blue flame, and suddenly connected inside that the elusive power she hinted at had been responsible for the changes he now saw. Something told him that her friends had witness it and hadn't pulled away and it made him suddenly grateful for their assistance in helping her realize she was lovable in her own way. He wanted to ask her about it, curious at what all it could do, but too afraid to lose the traction he’d gained with her in the past few minutes.

That, and his dick would kill him in agony if he failed to fuck her tonight. It’s banked lust was frustrated at epic levels and stroking himself alone in his room wouldn’t suffice, not now, after what he’d learned over the course of the past few days. Thinking of that, it stirred again, nearly making him wince as it continued to nag him by the painful throb it kept insisting on shooting through his body against his brais.  _Calm the fuck down,_ he told his cock, even as it refused to listen, making him bite back a groan as he watched her tug her longer hair with her fingers, tucking strands of the golden brown mass behind her delicate ears.

“You haven’t asked me about my hair,” she suddenly commented, and he realized once more he had fallen into a stupored silence, staring at her ravenously. Luckily, her head was turned away once more, and he schooled his expression to something softer and less frightening when she looked back his way.

“I assume it has something to do with what occurred in the bathroom the other day?” He queried, watching as she went still, swallowed, then nodded. He looked as unconcerned as he felt. “I’m grateful it helped you recover. How’s it work?”

He sensed her anger before he saw it, looking up from where he speared several greens with his fork, swallowing them and chewing, surprised to see anger evident in her face when his eyes caught hers. “What?”

“You’re the third person to look at me and tell me there's nothing wrong, like this thing is normal,” she bit out through clenched teeth, “and it makes me feel like a fool for being so frightened of it all this time.”

He frowned, wondering why she would think that, reaching for her hand when he watched her expression shift, going cold and smooth again. "There's nothing wrong with that," he commented, threading her fingers with his own larger, calloused ones, but she refused to look his way, still outwardly frosty. Tapping her on the nose, he watched her blink and look at him with annoyance. “Stop that,” he smiled, shaking his head.

“Stop what?” She asked, the annoyance still clear on her face.

“Overthinking, or thinking you’re wrong, for feeling the way you’ve felt. It’s not wrong to feel frightened. Hell, I was when I first started gaining my powers. What’s it do?” He asked again, tilting his head to the side, inwardly pleased when he noticed she didn’t drop his grip, keeping her fingers intertwined with his.

Sighing, she reached behind her, pulling the plant from the bathroom onto the table. He blinked, curious, wondering over the past few days where it had ventured off to, and watched as she stared at it, then looked his way. He couldn’t help the amused smile he shot her, eyebrows raising in question.

Once more, she grew sour, her expression sharpening as she dropped his hand, curling both around the pot the plant was housed in, then closed her eyes. Entertained at this change in events and curious, he sat back, watching her fingers begin to glow faintly with that strange blue fire he'd witnessed before, then jolted in his seat in shock as the plant withered, turned black, then once more rebounded, looking somehow more lush than before.

“Well damn,” he finally muttered, when she dropped her hands, going rigid at his side and refused to meet his gaze. He leaned forward and turned the plant around, inspecting it, noting the changes. He whistled, glancing back at her, his eyes lowering over her form. “And this works the same with your body?” He tried keeping the huskiness out of his tone but failed, staring blatantly at her bound breasts, now more curious than ever to explore her new figure.  _And I thought I couldn't be more aroused than I already was. I was wrong._

“Yes,” she answered tightly. “And it seems I can take your power and do the same,” she answered, making him jolt faintly in surprise once more. She motioned to one of his siphons, finally meeting his gaze, and he shrugged, willing some of his power into the stone, until it gleamed - bright and red and swirling with unspent power - and she continued to enthrall him as she reenacted what she’d done with the plant. He stared, fascinated, as he watched her face grow more lovely, her hair shinier, realizing suddenly what this morning had meant - she’d healed herself, with his power, to mend her bruised body. “It doesn’t scare me, when I take your power, since you have so much of it already,” she murmured, glancing up to meet his gaze once more. “It’s a relief, knowing someone won’t be harmed when I touch them.”

The idea of her touching him at all, anywhere she pleased, made his lust ignite again for her with a frenzy. The idea of her needing something only he could provide - a fuel source for that odd token from the Cauldron when she’d demanded an exchange for her unwanted turn to High Fae - left him stunned. Suddenly, it clicked, and he knew then why the Cauldron had fated them as mates. He could give her something nobody else could and that made him hunger for her in a way that made all the previous times pale in comparison. _I'll give you that relief, love, and so much more._ By the Cauldron, he loved her. A warrior like him, of a different variety, but a warrior all the same. His skin felt hot, tight, and his cock blazed once again into awareness. She shifted in her seat, raising her gaze once more after sipping at her water glass, stilling when she caught sight of the look on his face. Her eyes widened as he stared, letting her know without speaking what he wanted, pleased when she didn't flinch or look away. _If you let me, I will fuck you all night._  His eyes told her, heavy with arousal and intent. I _will show you what I can give you that no one else can and, by the Gods, I will mate with you and bind you to me so you can’t ever leave me._

“Feel free to touch me anytime,” he hoarsely muttered, reaching for her. “Anywhere you want, whenever you want, as long as you want.”

“And if I wanted to kiss you?” She whispered, her mask slipping, showing the vulnerabilities he’d long suspected were there, but she wasn’t trusting enough of his character to show, not before he knew what he did now, making his heart ache as fiercely as his cock throbbed, and he grinned back.

“I sure as hell hope you want more than just a kiss, love,” he huskily shot back, tugging her into his lap, knowing full well she could feel his cockstand grinding into her now lusciously soft ass. “Because I’m about to drill a hole in this table from how badly I want to fuck you.”

Nesta stiffened, but moaned, and he couldn’t help it, the sound too much for him to take - crashing his mouth hungrily against hers. He tried slowing himself, backing off, but his body was in control now, furiously licking the insides of her mouth with his tongue, thrusting back and forth, mimicking what he wanted to desperately do with his body.

“I’ll fuck you if you let me,” he hotly muttered against her mouth, feeling her body tremble as he reached for her breast, finding the corset he expected, impatiently reaching for the buttons of her garment. “I’ll fill you with my cock, ride you hard, make you scream my name. I’ll lick your cunt, and you’ll beg me for more, and I’ll usher you into orgasms so hard, you’ll forget your name.”

“Good god,” she whimpered, shuddering against him. “You’re horrible.”

That made him laugh. “Which part?”

“All of it,” she muttered, unable to hold back the grin he watched transform her face, then turned, twisting out of his grip and standing. His cock screamed in protest, but he let her go, panting as he watched her turn, her eyes lowering, knowing she’d see the evidence of his arousal and remember how it had felt in her hands the other evening. He traced his fingers over himself, waiting for her to decide.

“It’s all yours if you want it,” he offered, waiting for her to choose. Every part of his body fought his decision to yield, place the decision in her hands, even if he wanted nothing more than to hoist her over his shoulder and carry her down the hall and tear off her clothes, but it was important to him that she decide on her volition. “Every part of me is yours, if you want it,” he found himself adding softly. “It’s been yours since the moment I met you.”

She shuddered, eyes half-mast, face flushed, and he tensed, waiting for her to say no, but she simply shook her head, mostly in wonder, in confusion, that had his entire body poised, ready to strike. “You’re torn. Why?”

“Every part of you?” She whispered weakly, her eyes wide, flashing with something he’d never seen there - _fear_. “ _All of you?_ What are you saying, Cassian?”

“I’m saying I love you,” he replied evenly, gauging her reaction. Once more, fear permeated her eyes, even if her expression remained closed, but he watched the flutter of her pulse at the base of her neck. He could tell the confession rocked her, but he made sure to keep his eyes on hers, letting her know he wasn’t going anywhere.

“But I’m a freak, a-a _thing_ \--I’m not even sure _what_ I am, I’m--” She sputtered, fury replacing that fear, and he inwardly grinned, biting his cheek to hide the outward show of it. _This_ Nesta he was intimately familiar with.

“I don’t care,” he smoothly interrupted her, staring at her outraged expression as he met her gaze with one born of patience. He had frightened her with his confession, but saw no reason to beat around the subject any longer. “You’re my mate. What we felt the other night was the bond. I want that, with you. I love you.”

“You’re insane,” she hissed, fury lighting her eyes to a more warm hue, one he had lusted after for months now.

He shrugged a shoulder. “So?”

“You’ll regret this, regret me, and I can’t take that kind of hate. I could stand the kind before you got to know me, but if I’m intimate with you, and you begin to hate me, I couldn’t bear it, I can’t do that, not with you, you don’t understand--” She tried once more, her tone arctic, and he almost hoisted her over his shoulder right then, rising with intent. She seemed to sense that she’d turned over something possessive in him, backing up immediately, her eyes wary. “I’d rather you hate me for saying no than to hate me for something much more personal.”

"Ah, love, but you haven't. Said no, that is," he purred, watching her stiffen. He gave her a few moments to say those words, watching her lips tremble as she stared at him, but she didn't say them and he took it as his opening. He lunged, grabbing her wrist before she could back away, her yelp arousing him but softening him once he had her against his side, grinding his erection into her hips. “ _I don’t care what you are_ ,” he interrupted her, crushing his mouth to hers. _You’re my mate, and I love you, that’s all that matters._

She moaned, arching against him, and his cock screamed at him to _hurry_ , _bury himself inside and mark her,_ but he forced himself to slow, leisurely stroking his tongue with hers, tempting her with how good it could be between them. “Can’t you _feel_ this?” he asked, dropping his mouth to nibble at her throat. “This tug between the two of us? I mean more than sex, something much more primal,” he murmured, feeling the bond tug between them both when he addressed it, feeling her jolt in his arms, making him groan. “Yes, _that right there_ , you felt that. _That’s_ what I’m talking about, love. How could I ever regret that feeling with you?”

She tilted her head back, panting, no doubt trying once more to reason with him with excuses, hearing the words stir on her lips, but his primal side swelled with frustration, wanting her to know he would never cast her off, furious that her past made her hate herself so harshly, she’d deny what was between them just to further punish her fledgling self-esteem.

“I don’t fucking care what you are, Nesta, _you’re mine_ ,” he snarled, his tone savage, as he fought both of their clothes, shredding the top layers of the dress she wore, shocked but pleased when he found her body, baring it to him as he cast off his curiass and brais, once more lush and soft in all the right spots, breasts heavy and round, tipped with those dusty pink nipples he’d briefly stroked with a finger the night before, wanting nothing more than to suck them into hardened nubs with his lips and tongue.

“These, though,” he rasped, palming them as she squirmed, moaning, her cold expression suddenly fading, blazing with heat and desire as he stroked the warm undercurve of her breast, then circled one of her nipples with his thumb, “These I care about, _a lot. Godsdamned_ , you’re so beautiful,” he hoarsely praised her, watching her eyes darken, his body growing taut at denying himself, but relishing that she wanted him. He loved her, she was his mate, and she was beautiful and _his_. “I don’t care what you are and I am very sad to hear you think yourself beneath such things as love, but I do love you, Nesta Archeron. _You’re mine_.”

Nesta - headstrong, callous, independent _Nesta fucking Archeron_ \- did the unthinkable right then. She flung her arms around him and cried. He stood, crushing her to him, dick throbbing, horny as hell, and didn’t know what to do, blinking in surprise as she buried her head against his shoulder and shook with the force of her sobs. He staggered back into his chair, cradling her, murmuring soothing words to her, wincing when she shifted in his lap, stirring his already aching cock into further frenzy, but damn if he wasn’t going to try and comfort her, no matter how much he wanted inside her.

“Is this why you pushed me away, love?” He murmured, tilting her head up, feeling his heart pang painfully inside his chest when her eyes met his. She said nothing, but he sensed her agreement to his words, frowning fiercely at her. “I’d paddle your ass if I think you’d let me,” he growled, rocking himself into her. “Let me be the judge of what I can handle,” he admonished her, lowering one of his hands to grip her and press her against his erection.

She moaned, shaking her head, her face flushed and open to everything she was feeling, a new sensation he relished, even if he hated the look of sadness still in her eyes. “You can’t love me. I’m a whore…” she started again, making him wish he could go back in time and strangle her mother for instilling such low self-worth in her eldest daughter.

“And I’m some damned saint?” He bantered back, furious - not at her, but she immediately stiffened, assuming the worst. He cursed, reaching for her, stroking her sides soothingly, but she sat up straighter, making his cock throb painfully when those beautiful nipples came into play again in the periphery of his vision.

“I’m a lush,” she countered again, doggedly pointing out her flaws and crossing her arms, which only further managed to plump and enhance her breasts, making him ache all that harder for her.

“I’m a bastard son of a nobody, and your point is?” He hissed, still furious that she’d pushed them apart for so long for such a useless fear, frustrated she was so determined to cast herself as worthless and deny him and her what they both wanted. He raised his hips, rocking them in a circular motion against her backside, watching her tense and drop her hands, gripping his stomach with her nails. He couldn’t help the groan that escaped past his lips, but she shook her head again, not letting it go.

“I’m a fucking Death God, or something close!” She shouted, glaring at him and struggling to stand and he was simply not having it, lowering himself to something he never thought himself capable of - force.

“And I said _I don’t fucking care_!” He shouted back, done with this inane conversation, standing and tossing her over his shoulder, marching towards his bedroom, ignoring her shock and resulting pummels of her fists against his back and sensitive wings. He grunted, ignoring the pain, and kept going. “If you won’t listen to worded reason, I’ll show you in other ways,” he griped, palming her ass, giving it a firm slap for good measure. He didn’t miss her shriek, followed by a tremble and a traitorous moan that made him grin.

“What are you doing?” She demanded when she saw where he was headed, bucking and clawing at his backside. He hissed as her claws raked warm fissures of pain along his back but noted, even if she didn’t, that she avoided his wings, betraying her feelings because she knew how delicate they were. Suddenly, he almost staggered, feeling the burning singe of her power sucking on his own.

“Damned wench,” He hissed, slapping her ass again, the startled shriek stopping the pain briefly, but the act she was putting on only making him want her more, as he kicked open his door and tossed her onto the mattress, stripping himself bare of his remaining garments.

“Lose the rest of the clothes, Nesta,” he barked, staring at where she laid sprawled across his bed, fury and shock warring for dominance on her face, her pantalets still tied to her hips. “Unless you want me to shred those, too.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” She hissed, and he smirked, almost laughing, noting the flicker of arousal in her eyes. She could have said no, at any time, and he’d stop. Instead, she lowered her eyes and stared blatantly at his erection.

“Strip, or I rip them off you,” he said, deciding to tease her further, grabbing his cock and palming himself. “I need to be in you. Unless, of course, you’d rather watch me jerk off and then leave, if you don’t want me?”

Her eyes snapped back to his, blazing blue fire, and he knew when he had her, pumping himself faster, drawing himself closer to the edge just by being able to finally stare at her while he fist fucked his cock, and bit back a groan when she stood and shrugged off the rest of her clothes, notching her chin up and biting out her next response, exposing the beauty of her body, her sex, her thighs and backside.  _Fuck, you're fucking gorgeous, and **all mine.**_

“Take your hand off your cock. You’re not allowed to come unless it’s in me,” she hissed. Just hearing those commanding words tumble out of her mouth almost made him orgasm right there, instantly dropping his hand, motioning to the bed, biting back the draw of his body, poised and primed for release. She wanted his seed in her? She was going to get it. She laid back on it, opening her knees wide and exposing herself and he couldn’t help but look, groaning as he stared at the evidence of her desire for him.

“ _By the fucking Cauldron,_ you’re gorgeous,” he lowered himself, reaching out with a hand to cup her, test her sex, dip inside and feel her eagerness, bringing his fingers back to taste her on his lips. He watched her eyes darken as he sucked her slickness off his fingers, relishing the sweet thick taste of her, and then lowered his hand to his shaft, coating himself in the rest of her excitement, priming his cock to breach her, then tugged her to him, shoving her legs further apart. “Put them around my waist, love. I’m about to take you for a ride and you need to hold on.”

She did as he asked, making him hiss as the hot creamy warmth of her sex pressed up against the edge of his cockhead, and his control briefly snapped, thrusting forward with force, gripping her hips tightly to hold her in place while he speared himself into her heat, his nostrils flaring. “ _Gods yes_ ,” he hissed, shuddering, his head falling back as something in the back of his head exploded at the pleasure he felt being there. “It’s even better than I imagined. I-- _bloody hell_ , you feel so fucking good. _Don’t_ ,”  he hissed in warning, feeling her moan and bucking underneath him, shredding his control, tightening his grip to the point he worried he was hurting her, to stave off his rapidly approaching climax. “ _Don’t move_ , let me set the pace, or you’ll make me come before you’re ready. I’ve wanted this for too long.”

Immediately, for some insane reason, she listened, going completely still. He could hear her pants, her concentrated effort not to moan, and damn if it didn’t make him even harder. Slowly, he pulled back, then once more sunk himself inside her - _all_ the way inside her - and forcibly held himself back from coming, reaching with one hand he allowed to loosen from her hip when she stayed plaint beneath him, stroking her clit in brisk circles. She was _tight_ , responsive, warm, trembling all around him as she tried to acclimate herself to his presence and - the part that surprised him the most - as close to coming as he was, feeling her channel twitch and contract, on the threshold of orgasm, with each rotating swirl of his fingertips.

“Cassian,” she warned, her tone pleading, and he opened his eyes to stare into hers as he moved. Her face - that beautiful expression-filled face - was begging him to take her over the edge. Suddenly, he felt it - the bond, stirring between them, engulfing him once more in not only his arousal but her own, coated with a tinge of fear - and she shuddered, her eyes dropping, face flickering in fear. “No, _don’t_ ,” he hissed, reaching up to grip her jaw, forcing her eyes back to his. “Don’t shut me out now. Let me in, let me _completely_ in. _Please._ I love you.”

With that, he felt it snap into place, and he couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to, his instincts taking over. He lunged, pounding into her soft constricting heat with rutting force, hard and fast and euphoric, calling to everything inside of him, hearing her scream and feel a startled jolt at the other end of the bond that began to forge around them as he claimed her in every sense of the word. She bucked then, his grip unable to leash her, convulsing into an orgasm so powerful, his eyes crossed. He groaned, feeling her coming undone around his cock in tight, rhythmic bursts, making him roar just as the bond flooded him from her side -- her staggering fears, her loneliness, her anxiety over her _love_ for him -- _She loves_ _me?_ \-- and it broke him, her own hang ups so much like his own internal struggles, that he simply couldn’t do anything more than press himself as deep as he could go and explode.

“ _Nesta - fuck! Nesta - Gods..._ **_Nesta_** ,” He hoarsely tried calling to her, convulsing in long shuddering spasms as her body milked his own until he couldn’t even hold himself up anymore, weakly crashing atop her, most likely crushing her, feeling the hot wet hold of his semen inside her, slipping between them both. “I love you,” he hoarsely muttered in her ear, chanting it, not knowing why, but feeling the need to _move_  again _,_ to prove it with not just mind but also body, growing even harder than before, gently thrusting, chanting those three words with each surge of his hips.

“I love you,” he whispered, thrusting and then withdrawing, feeling her body grow tight under his, around his cock, making him thrust harder, reaching up to stroke her jaw, kiss her lips, make her _his._ “I love you,” again, he moved, harder, faster, forcing her to meet his gaze. “ _I love you,”_ He groaned, on the precipice, feeling her body tremble, her channel flutter, close to climax herself. _“You’re mine.”_

“I love you, too. You’re mine, too,” she whispered, and he seized again, letting out an anguished groan as he went rigid just as his cock let go of its burden, kicking inside her, spattering her insides with his release.

He should have been replete, but he wasn’t, taking her an astonishing four more times before they finally fell asleep, her curled against him, his cock still half-buried inside her. For the first time in his life, he felt content, sighing and nuzzling her neck, feeling her own emotions banked yet there, echoing his own. He briefly thought, as he curled his wings around them both, that he finally understood what mating felt like.

It felt like forever.


	16. Chapter 16

The wind whistled through the cavern’s entrance where the men huddled close by, their backs to the frigid temperatures outside, trying to block it from suffocating the fire at their feet. A blizzard had set in a few hours before and from the looks of it, would take well past nightfall to settle down. The mountains would be thick with powder soft snow after the storm passed, making hunting difficult, but nothing the men in attendance couldn't handle. Fresh water could be boiled from the snow, but things were tense in the cavern -- cold, wet, cut off, away from all the pleasantries of home -- making them angry and prone to lashing out. He would know, standing by the entrance, having had to listen to it for the past hour.

“Sounds like a damn banshee out there,” muttered Divos, prodding at the wood burning that was keeping them warm with the blunt edge of a steel rod, used for hammering swords into shape at a smithy’s fire. “Almost out of wood, too. Going to be a bitch to collect and light tomorrow, with everything being wet as hell. I am not looking forward to sleeping on wet, cold rock. When he say he was going to be back - eh, Jeric? This ain’t what I signed up for, freezing my balls off in a damned cave at the edge of no where with no plan. When's the _fight?_ ”

“He said he’d be here soon, so shut up and just keep stirring the fire,” Jeric barked back, scowling dangerously. Divos muttered a few unintelligible words then grew quiet again, making him ease the tension that formed inside his chest. All the men were restless but so far had listened to him and heeded his words. He would never live down the embarrassment if his men and the others who had joined them - fresh, not yet trained enough to have participated in the war down south with the Cauldron - left or abandoned their posts. It was too late for that now, and he thought most realized that, though some he was worried over. He didn't want Stian thinking they weren't committed, but he knew they couldn't go home now. What they were doing here was treason, there was no way back.

Still, they listened, and drew quiet again. Unlike the others, he was just skilled enough to be deadly and his name - courtesy of his father’s renowned war chief status - kept him able to wrangle the others in the caves under his command. As the night wore on without sign of their 'leader,' he too was beginning to feel like the others - nervous, restless, wary. When Stian had explained an overthrow of the General and Lord Rhysand’s Inner Circle, he hadn’t exactly planned it to be like _this;_ living in a cave half-starved, waiting for some change to occur that would free their people from the bullshit tactics of a command that didn’t understand their enemies, but then again he'd never been in anything like this at all, something his father would have pointed out, most likely after hammering home a lesson in his flesh with a hard peice of metal or wood. He grit his teeth, snarling at anyone that objected, thinking he could endure a cold, wet night rather than his father's wrath if he was ever discovered. Besides, this was for Illyria and their people and ways that should be honored - right?

He thought back to their leader, the one that had blown through town, talked of ways that - at the time - sounded so sincere and plotted out, and wondered briefly if he'd placed his faith correctly in him. He hoped the man truly had a plan or if they’d given up their warm hearths back home for something unachievable, even if he'd never be willing to admit it to the others. Some of the others grumbled that Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel, the three most feared warriors in all of Illyria, were simply too powerful to beat, but he quickly squashed that down. The way Stian talked when he’d spoken to him about them before he set out this morning, he had simply smiled, flashing a row of white teeth in a dark face, explaining he had associates that would help cure the power imbalance.

 _Just wait, my friend,_ he had said, _there are newfound ways to defeat those born with such powers that shouldn’t have been. There’s a way now to give those who should be in power a way to grab ahold of what have should have been their birthright. Just exercise a little more patience, young warrior, and all that you have wished to achieve will be yours._

“Anyone seen Torin? Or Peder? They went to help Stian this morning, but I haven’t seen them since,” Zaruk murmured, glancing around the caverrn. Jeric scowled, remembering how he had told him to back down when the General had been snooping around their village just the other evening and narrowed his eyes Zaruk’s way.

“Probably being more of a man than _you_ are, bastard worshipper,” He spat, standing, his fingers itching to grab ahold of his sword, resting them on the pommel. The others looked up, noting his tenseness, then glanced Zaruk’s way. The younger man blinked, eyes going wide, as he caught sight of Jeric’s glower. The crests of his cheekbones turned red, indicating his embarrassment, but Jeric knew the younger man was talented with a sword - quicker than he was - and he just snorted in response. “They’re helping Stian, or so he said.”

“You sure?” Divos asked, scratching at his beard, making Jeric’s eyes narrow further as the other men muttered agreements, making Zaruk still and glance back Jeric’s way. Zaruk, for some odd reason, quieted the others as he met Jeric’s stare head on, sensing Jeric’s brief panic. He hated the younger man - his deceased baby brother’s best friend, who had died in that useless war, for the supposed fate of Prythian - could somehow sense his emotions, even with the scowl in place.

“Jeric’s probably right, they’re out recruiting more to the cause. We just need to be patient, like he said. Besides, the blizzard isn’t going anywhere tonight and we might as well just buckle down and get some sleep. When it clears, I suspect Stian will have a plan for us.”

The others murmured agreements and shifted once more on their feet, bedding down for the night. Zaruk met Jeric’s stare forlornly and he felt his jaw tic as he spat and turned, looking out into the night.

This had to work, he knew it as much as Zaruk did. If it didn’t work -- the alternative wasn’t worth thinking of.

* * *

 

“You _said_ I would be just as powerful, yet all the siphons do not glow, _warlock_ ,” Stian spat, slamming his fist down on the table so hard, the wood cracked. The cabin was musty, vacant, and neglected, just an abandoned home, like so many others, with no warriors to fill it - one that no doubt had died in that war down south that Stian had seen wipe many of Illyria’s finest from this plane. It had plagued him, but not as much as this. This was his quest, his one goal in life - and he was so close, he could taste it. If only the mortal in front of him could deliver what he needed to defeat _him,_ he’d satiate that one dream that had driven him nearly all his life. To be this close and fail now would only be cruel.

The mortal smirked, crossing his arms over his chest, unphased by the Illyrian’s show of violence, not even when he spread his wings, talons gleaming. “It’s alchemist Josias, actually, but I won’t hold the title misuse against you, _Illyrian.”_ When Stian snarled, the alchemist merely smiled. “I continue to fuel you, it merely takes more than what you’ve provided me. These boys -- they’re merely children, like unripe fruit, if you will. Other than that first, the man you called Torin, they’re not nearly enough for what you need. You need to bring me better specimens, if you’d like your aims achieved. Where are your older warriors? Those tapped into their full potential? Better yet, where are the members of the Inner Circle you promised me? Or the one my Queen wants - the High Lord?”

“You’re a fool if you think you can tackle Rhysand,” Stian warned, his dark eyes flashing. “He is unlike any other High Lord in history. Choose another.”

“When you met with my superior, it was under the arrangements that you could present us with the High Lord. We will not accept a lesser bounty than him,” argued the alchemist, staring at Stian with eyes that briefly pulsed violet. It made Stian’s lungs burn briefly, but he was quicker - a glint of a knife blade all that alerted the mortal before it was pressed against his throat. The sensation faded, and he grinned, watching the mortal’s eyes narrow, but otherwise not show any concedement that he was the better, faster fighter here - even if he didn’t possess the mortal’s skill at magic.

“If you want the High Lord, then you have to give me more power. A _lot_ more. I will bring you more men, more skilled men. Can you do it?”

“Of course I can,” the mortal snorted, his eyes unreadable outside of the hardened hungry glint for more power - something Stian understood all too well.

“Very well,” Stian smiled, pulling the dagger away and pocketing it in his brais. “More men tomorrow, more transfer, and once the General and the Spymaster are down and absorbed into me, you’ll get your precious High Lord.”

The alchemist grinned. “Excellent.”

* * *

_'I love you,' he whispered against her mouth, thrusting inside her body, staring at her with hazel eyes so intense, she had no choice but to believe him._

_'I love you too, but I'm afraid,' she whispered, moaning, loving the way he knew just what to do, what to say, to set her insides aflame. The painful bloom in her chest could be nothing less than love, something she'd felt take root months ago, when he taunted her, made her inwardly blush even when she wanted to smash his face in, and when she saw the hidden depths to him over the course of their acquaintance since, had realized with painful clarity what it was. She never wanted to feel it, thinking it was a mirage, but when that King had almost taken him from her, she couldn't bear it, and had given in - just a sliver - and prepared herself to die with him. Then, they'd been saved. And now..._

_He grinned above her, lowering his head, sucking her nipples into his mouth. It felt so good, she felt her body heat up, melt for him, and she cried out, arching into it as he pulled his mouth away. 'No, don't stop, more...'_

_'More, my love?' He whispered against her lips, kissing her. 'What will you give me?'_

_'Everything,' she whispered back. He grinned, lowering his head..._

A tug on her breasts by something warm and skilled woke her to a state of arousal that made her gasp, her eyes fluttering open as she arched, feeling a hardness pressing between her thighs, against her sex. Heat suffused her cheeks as she moaned - loud and in a state of surprise, realizing it wasn't a dream. She blinked, looking down, seeing a thick drape of dark hair covering her breasts, and then -- more tugs of a wet, hot tongue against her breasts.  _"Oh god..."_

" _Mmm,_ you're finally awake."  A soft growl immediately met her ears as her eyes focused on Cassian, who still had his wings cocooning them from the sun’s rays at the windows, as he pulled his head back up, his lips wet, where he'd been busy  leaning over her, sucking on her nipples. He grinned, then flicked his tongue over her right breast, making her moan before she could stop it. "Thank fuck, those sweet noises you were making in the back of your throat while you slept and I did this made my cock almost explode. Now I can properly fuck you."

“ _Cassian_ ,” she gasped, struggling to come to grips that she could sense him _inside -_ inside her head, where she thought she’d be alone - and somehow, miraculously, she could sense a part of herself inside _him._ It unnerved her, when she accidentally brushed his side of that bond, so much like a bridge with two points, a golden cord of twine interlinking their souls, sensing his immediate lust. He shuddered, returning to her breasts as she felt him do the same to her, blasting her with his ferverent need. He wanted her, _badly_ , and she could sense it - everything he wanted to do to her. 

It aroused her so much, she couldn't say no, wanting the same. Without even speaking or thinking, she sent a message instinctually down the bond that he could take what he wanted, instantly aroused at feeling his own need, and he took it - sitting up and grasping one knee, angling it just so, thrusting his cock forward and entering her - slowly, as if he knew how sore she was before even she did - and made it pleasurable.

 _What did I do?!_ She panicked, but it felt so good - this act between them, so much better than anything she’d imagined in the many times she’d thought of him while taking others, or pleasured herself when they failed to live up to even the meagerest expectations or didn’t take one at all, unable to face that again for another day - but soon lost herself in the motions of sex.

His thrusts were shallow, perfectly aimed, and had her body aching so much for release, she couldn’t form words. She opened her mouth, desperate to tell him what she needed, but he merely kissed her.

 _Shhh, love, I know what you need,_ his voice suddenly echoed inside her head, and she jerked under him, muffling a scream against his mouth. He could talk inside her head, too? This was worse than she thought. As if sensing her rising panic, he chose that moment to move fast, hard, timing it perfectly, and her panic quickly fell to the wayside as her orgasm slammed into her, washing away everything but the exquisite feel of his body making hers sing. She didn't realize until after her peak that it eased her anxiety and was what she needed, wondering how he knew, just as she watched him slam into orgasm. She felt his body go tense, a few more quick thrusts slamming into her, and then he groaned loudly and his cock began to kick inside her. The sounds he made, the shattering of his facial expression as his entire body jerked in ecstasy, aroused her so painfully she quickly spiraled again head first into another orgasm so powerful, she almost fell back into blissful sleep afterwards.

“You’re going to kill me,” Cassian muttered in her hair, once they were both aware of their surroundings once more, crushing her into the soft mattress, and she realized afterwards her legs and arms were clasping him tightly to her. She trembled, afraid to move, afraid to admit that feeling him pressing her into the mattress, _his_ cock buried in _her,_ made her feel so good, felt so right, that she didn’t want to get up and face the day and what she’d done.

 _Fuck, fuck, **fuck --**_ She panicked again, her heart pounding.  _This can't be happening. This can't be real. This can't be...._

“ _Cassian, I--_ ”

He felt her panic, stroking her breasts, somehow able to ease her trembling as he murmured in a soft, strong tone. “ _No,_ Nesta, no clamming up, no shutting me out. Freak outs are allowed, but don’t deny what happened. You _are_ my mate and what you're feeling is normal. Relax, babe, it's _me,_ you know I won't harm you, you can feel how much I love you,” he rasped in her ear, tilting his head back, gripping her chin when she squeezed her eyes shut, feeling her heart hammering wildly in her chest at those words, her fear spiking, until she finally opened her eyes when he murmured her name a few times. His hazel eyes stared down into hers and the smile he gave her made her heart ache, so unused to the echoing sensations when looking at him.

“You love me,” she whispered, still shocked at the feel of it through the bond and the way he looked at her. No one ever looked at her like that. “You _actually_ love me. _Me_.”

He nodded.

She sputtered, shaking her head. This was insane, things like this just didn’t happen to her. She didn’t want to admit how much the flare of hope in her chest that this was real hurt, but it sprung forth before she could squash it. From all she could sense in that odd tether between them, he actually did. His emotions were genuine. It scared her to realize how her own were the same and she wanted to run, fight, and that made her angry and confused. “ _How?_ I’m just --”

“Everything I’ve been waiting for my whole life,” Cassian growled, bringing his mouth back down to hers, spending the next several moments kissing her again. It felt so good, she gave into it, a soft keening sound escaping her mouth before she could stop it, realizing with embarrassment she wanted him - again.

He seemed to sense it, beginning to move, and she gasped against his mouth, realizing he was hard already inside of her, or he’d never stopped being hard since their explosive climax. “How?”

“I want you, hush, let me - _fuck yes_ \- like that, squeeze down, _fuck_ , I’m going to--” He groaned, picking up his pace, gripping her wrists over her head, raising himself up to move his hips and thighs in a deliciously faster pace, until her body was poised and on the edge, trembling with readiness.

“ _Nesta_ ,” he roared, just as she screamed, slamming his hips into hers and spurting just as she felt her body spiral once more out of control, into another orgasm so intense, she almost went blind.

“ _Shit_ ,” he groaned, once more crushing her into the mattress, stroking her cheeks with trembling fingers, his body slick with sweat, melding with her own overheated senses where his skin slid along her own. “ _Fuck,_ that was so good. Are you okay, babe? I know I’ve taken you so many times, but I just... _fuck_ , Rhys wasn’t kidding, this is _insane_. I still want you. Can you go once more? Please?”

“Yes,” she whispered, canting her hips, feeling him groan and begin to move again, kissing his temple, watching his head lift, those eyes meeting hers again, as lust hardened his face. She didn’t think, just felt, and allowed him to continue to use her body, getting lost in the moment.

* * *

Astra sighed, shaking her head, as she wandered into the kitchen, tying the ends of her dress stays before moving to the countertop, rekindling the fire in the cooking hearth. They were low on food again and her brother still hadn’t come home. Just where the hell was he these days?

She thought back to their fight, when she’d first shown up on his doorstep in the village they now - temporarily, at least - called home. On instinct, her fingers brushed her ribs, remembering his fury and how he’d slammed his fist down on the counter when he realized what she’d done, not knowing the cutting board would knock loose and bruise her ribs. He remembered his brief flicker of discomfort, then his profuse apologies after he forced her to show him the damage - hairline fractures - and explained she could stay with him, travelling villages for work while she trained, until they found another more stable way to make a living. It had always been them, together, growing up in their father’s loveless home, and she forgave him, not wanting him to feel that his harsh reaction made her think of him any less.

Hearing the door open, she looked over her shoulder, smiling as he came inside with a grunt and slammed the door closed, casting off his cloak. Her eyes lit up, seeing a parcel of food from the village grocer. “You brought it. I was beginning to wonder, brother,” she teased, kissing him on his cheek as he came by.

He grinned back and shook his head, ruffling her hair. “And how’s the lessons going, little sister?”

“Fine, fine,” she smiled, motioning for him to take a seat. “Sit, stay. It won’t take me long to make us something. Long days at the forge lately? You haven’t been home.”

“You’ve been making friends and haven’t been either,” he pointed out, sitting as she asked, watching her as she began putting away the items, giving him a faint grin. “Tell me about them?”

She plucked an apple from the parcel and tossed it his way, watching as he chewed and studied her. “Good. There’s a new one, a High Fae--Nesta. I really like her. She and I partnered up. The others aren’t quite as accepting of me. So we’ve been sticking together. You should meet her sometime, come by for dinner there. She’s staying at the General’s house.”

“Oh?” He asked, biting into the apple with a smile. “I’d like that.”

“Enough about me,” Astra finally said, putting on oats to soften and make some porridge, settling into the seat beside him. “Tell me about YOUR day, Stian. How was the Blacksmith?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup. Gotta make shit complicated. That just happened. XD


	17. Chapter 17

When Cassian finally opened the door, casting one last lingering glance at the sleeping woman - _his_ woman, his _mate_ \- spread across his sheets, he immediately ran into the knowing amused stare of Azriel. He grit his teeth, tamping down on the spark of ire that quickly flared up, his hackles raising, at the thought that his best friend could see Nesta behind him, quickly shutting the door and flaring out his wings, hiding her from view.

“ _What?”_ He doesn’t even bother filtering his tone, the edge in his voice nothing short of deadly. Azriel’s eyes immediately moved from the door to his face, noting the barely constrained lethalness there. _Yeah, that’s right, I claimed her - just like_ **_you_ ** _pushed me to, remember? Now she’s_ **_mine_ ** _and I dare you to say something about her or our bond._ His fingers trembled with the urge to hit, smash, _destroy_ , if Azriel said anything negative or misconstrued about what he no doubt scented on him. He decided last night, he was done playing. She was his, in every way possible now, and he would not apologize for it. Idly, in the back of his mind, he thought of Morrigan blinking, then sneering, and his blood broiled at the thought, ready to protect her at all costs. His mate was a strong woman, no doubt, but she’d been through enough in her short life. If anyone wanted to call her names or insinuate that their bond was somehow distasteful, they could kindly fuck off and get an attitude adjustment before re-entering their life.

Azriel’s stare softened, his eyes darkening, and he wisely said nothing as if sensing his mood, simply turning on his heel and moving down the hall with footsteps so quiet, if Cassian wasn’t staring at him, he’d have been convinced he was alone. Immense relief swelled inside his chest, but he held it in, still too on edge to fully relax. He remembered how Rhys was when he’d first claimed Feyre and realized then how much he had been holding back when he’d wisely chosen to work off some of Rhys’ steam by egging him on. _By the Cauldron, I’m ready to fucking kill the first thing that looks at me or my mate the wrong way,_ he grimaced, swallowing down a growl, feeling flushed and overheated, his inner beast prowling, poised for a fight. Azriel knew, wisely, that now wasn’t the time to engage him, and figured they’d burn the steam off searching for deserters - something he now relished all to well, the idea of beating those convicted of treason into useless lumps of flesh vastly appealing. When Azriel looked his way, he gave a curt nod, pleased Azriel hadn’t said anything, hadn’t given any indication he was less than fully accepting. He had to smell their mingled scents, Azriel was too good a tracker otherwise. It pleased him to understand his friend accepted her and their bond and soothed the rough edges of his primal mood, grabbing for his sword belt that was leaning against the weapons rack against the wall, clearing his throat. “Where to first?”

Azriel tossed Cassian his cloak his way as he murmured their first stop - the woods lining the village they’d first noted the deserters - hoping to pick up on a trail, though knowing it was a long shot at the moment. He nodded, agreeing, shrugging on the sheepskin wool overcoat as he buckled his weaponry to his hips, readying to head  out. Azriel started to say something else, when Enar entered, giving the gathering room and them both a casual glance before moving past him, whistling between his teeth down the hall, no doubt to call to Nesta to wake for training.

“Hey, darling? Aren’t you going to join Astra this morning? She’s waiting for yo--” His words came to an abrupt screeching halt as Cassian saw red at the guard’s referral to _his_ woman as something so endearing to him. No one used those terms with her any longer, not unless it was _him._ Enar went on the defensive, but he was no match for Cassian, and Azriel could sense it, shoving up against him so fast, Cassian could barely sense the shadows before they weaved between his fingers, loosening his grip on Enar’s throat, and thrust him into a dark sliver between worlds, making him snarl in fury at being denied the attack he wanted.

Turning, he blinked, squinting, noting Azriel had pulled them onto a snow-packed side of a mountain, his siphons sparking to life. Azriel said nothing, his cold expression revealing nothing, but he sensed rather than saw that Azriel was giving him the same out he had given Rhys all those months ago.

Relieved at an outlet to lash out to, he launched himself towards his friend with a roar.

 

* * *

A sudden knock at the door had Nesta blinking, rising from the sheets, heat creeping into her cheeks at the state of the room - of the soreness in her body - as she woke with a startle at the sharp interruption to what had been a blissful, tired sleep after what she’d endured the previous evening and all throughout the night.

“Hello?” She called out, surprised her voice was so raspy. She cleared her throat, wincing at the sound, and tried again - this time with much better effect. “Yes? Who’s there?”

“Nesta? You’re in Cassian’s room. You know that, right?” It was Astra, her tone worried, and Nesta felt more heat creep into her cheeks, but she quickly scrubbed a hand over her face and wiped the embarrassment off her expression, standing and slipping into a robe, reaching and opening the door.

“I’m aware,” she commented in a smooth tone, moving past her friend’s gaping stare, padding down the hall towards the gathering room. “I’m guessing I overslept. I suppose I’ll join after lunch. When is lunch?”

“Now,” Astra commented, wandering into the room behind her, staring at Nesta with wide eyes. “You...your--scent, you…” She trailed off, gesturing slowly at Nesta, her mouth hanging open for several seconds before she finally seemed to catch notice of how she must have appeared, stuttering to a smile and then turning to look out the window. “No wonder Enar is in such a shit mood and is sporting a bruise across his windpipe. You’re mated.”

“What?” She blinked, turning, looking at Astra before peering out the window, noting Enar’s tense form, turned towards the training ring, the rigid control of his tall, broad form showing he was stewing over something. She rapped her knuckles against the window, watching as his eyes flickered her way, and she motioned for him to join them inside. He didn’t move, just returning to stare out across the field in front of the cabin, and Nesta dropped her hand, her expression still schooled into that cool outer indifference, even if the dismissal stung internally. _What the hell?_

“Did you ask him to join us for lunch?” She asked, looking back at Astra, who had since moved into the kitchen and begun preparing sandwiches and cut fruit. She nodded, nibbling on a berry as she stared over Nesta once more, eyes hovering in certain spots that made Nesta struggle not to wince, knowing she would be able to see light burn marks on her skin where Cassian’s scruffy chin would have trailed over as he traced her flesh with his tongue. Flashes of last night and this morning came back to her and she decided to sit down before she lost control of her legs, sliding into a seat at the dinner table. It had been intense, erotic, and immensely satisfying. The longer she thought on it, the longer she focused, she could sense it - that cord between them, tenuous and trembling and yet stronger than anything she’d ever encountered in her life - and just as Cassian’s emotions brushed up against hers, startling her, she dropped the inspection, feeling it slide just out of sight, but nevertheless was there.

“I did, he declined. My guess? Cassian’s blood is up, especially after a bond like that being so fresh between you two, and he doesn’t want to risk the General’s wrath, not for a while. Don’t take it personally, he doesn’t mean it that way.” Astra murmured, settling a plate in front of her, before heading to the door, handing Enar one, who accepted it without comment and didn’t come inside, then moved back to grab her own, sitting down beside her as they both began to eat.

“Cassian attacked Enar,” Nesta said, as she chewed, her thoughts a whirlwind. She shook her head incredulously as Astra nodded and studied her, a faint smile slowly tugging the edges of her lips up. “Is he going to be like this all the time? Around anyone he deems --what? A threat? _Competition?_ ” Her fury rose with each question, until her eyes were almost glowing in their simmering rage. Suddenly, it guttered out, as she thought of her past life. Why _wouldn’t_ he feel threatened? Upset? She’d slept so carelessly with anything she could drag home only weeks before, how would he know that what happened last night, what they’d shared, had meant so much more? They’d exchanged words, sure, but did he really know that she’d experienced things with him that no other could touch?

“You’re doing that overthinking thing again,” Astra warned, pulling Nesta from her thoughts so easily, she scowled in her friend’s direction. Astra merely grinned and leaned forward. “I see this is something I’m a little more versed in than you, so I’ll give you the basics. I’m surprised your sister, who’s mated to High Lord Rhysand, hasn’t told you more, but…” Her voice petered out as she stared, tipping her head to the side, shaking it slowly. “..Actually, no--I’m not. You mentioned you two weren’t exactly close, given your past.”

Nesta swallowed uncomfortably but merely nodded, picking at her plate, forcing herself to eat, remembering Azriel’s comments on their first dinner together, those phantom words encouraging her to keep up her strength, never knowing what this new mysterious bond or her powers would demand out of her. “You’re correct. Go on.”

“This should be something you two talk about, so I’m just going to tell you a few things, so you stop giving me the ‘cold shoulder of overthinking’ look,” Astra grinned, wiping at her mouth with a napkin, pleased to see Nesta’s eyes narrow in that familiar bitchy fashion she was known for, making her friend laugh. “There you are, back to your lovable surly ways. So, when you mate -- the male wants to protect you, at any cost. Anything looking to be a threat is treated as just that, even if his logical side knows its not. We’re sorta like…” She trailed off, her eyes going distant, then shrugged a shoulder, looking back her way. “...like animals in heat the first few days. The fact Cassian left you alone after just a day is...impressive. He’ll be very-- _ahem_ \--demanding for a while. You might want to think of contraceptive tea and some muscle relaxants for a while, to keep up with his needs when he comes home. _Do_ try and talk to him, though I imagine it’s hard to, given what he wants.”

Nesta felt her cheeks heat, despite before now swearing she was not the type of woman prone to blushing. Still, Astra’s bluntness was a relief, and she nodded slowly. “Could you….” She trailed off, almost too embarrassed to ask, but Astra merely grinned.

“Of course. I know more than just fixing up a bruise or two, you know,” Astra replied, making Nesta blink. Astra grinned knowingly around a piece of fruit, and once again, Nesta was reminded she might have underestimated her friend again.

“You’re not a…?” She asked, tilting her head to the side, and Astra shook her head. She chuckled, looking down at her food, forcing herself to finish her plate before standing, moving to place it in the sink. “You continue to surprise me,” she called over her shoulder, watching Astra wink her way before standing.

“Go get dressed. I’ll go get the... _things_ you need, and we’ll meet at the training ring for the afternoon. Sound like a plan?” Astra smiled her way, making Nesta nod.

 

* * *

Training was rough, backbreaking work. Nesta couldn’t determine if it was due to her said soreness from the night before or her lack of focus. Every time she thought she was getting the rhythm of the fighting choreography Devlon was showing them down, she’d think and feel of that bond, and stumble under the onslaught of what had to have been Cassian’s emotions echoing down the bond. Lust, frustration, annoyance, satisfaction at the bond, they all roared back at her, drowning out all else. _Tonight,_ she told herself, _I must have him tell me how to silence this_ , sensing the stares her way when she’d slip, but recover quickly enough she didn’t earn an admonishment from Devlon or Astra.

Astra, for her blessed part, had acted like nothing was amiss, keeping her far enough away from the others, they wouldn’t smell the change in her scent. Enar was stone-faced, but his eyes were soft and he’d nod his head once or twice when she’d look his way, telling her without words he wasn’t upset, even if it rankled her she couldn’t continue their friendship as before, not until Cassian calmed down from whatever animal-like state he was in after their torrid fuck session that had resulted in this bond between them.

She felt both hatred and relief at the sudden lack of control it gave her in her life and that she no longer had to pretend with him any longer. When he’d stared at her, asking her not to fight it any longer, not deny what was between them, she couldn’t help but give in, sensing it was critical she accept him before their relationship splintered off in a way that would be irrevocable. The result of admitting her internal secret - she wanted and _loved_ him, not realizing until that moment when they’d joined, barred their scarred insides to one another that the emotions he evoked in her were truly that - had changed them in a way she hadn’t expected but didn’t hate, even if it made her intensely uncomfortable.

She remembered his words of her being the strongest woman he had ever known, and felt her fledgling self-esteem strengthen for it. Squaring her shoulders, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand, and devote herself to training for the rest of the day. Astra noted the change, grinning, and together they moved through the movements in time better than any of their peers, earning another first for her that day -- Devlon’s praise.

“Good, good! Keep going, Ice Princess! You, girl, with her? Move your -- yes, perfection. Keep going!”

The other women stared, some scowling, some admiring, and Nesta smiled for the first time without cause, feeling like she could actually do this.

* * *

He leaned heavily on his knees, body bent over, catching his breath. His face, fists, and sides ached painfully, but it was a lulling welcome distraction from what kept creeping into his mood - the need to claim, dominate, _fuck._ He wanted Nesta under him, moaning his name as he drove into her over and over, so badly it was an altogether unclaimed sensation.

“Thanks,” he muttered over at Azriel, focusing back on what they were out here actually intent to do - find where the deserters were holing up and draw them out - wiping blood off his lip with the back of his fist. Azriel merely nodded, panting and straightening his own haphazard appearance. “Did Rhys start his rounds in the war camps this morning?” Azriel nodded again. “And your men? They get any trails?”

“Not yet,” Azriel murmured, straightening just as he did, dark eyes focused on the thick treeline in the distance. Cassian motioned, recognizing the structures. This was the most obvious choice to hide, and if the men deserting the camps had any skin in the game of warfare, wouldn’t have chose this place as their outpost, but it seemed both the Spymaster and himself wanted an easy win to start the day.

“You got something to make sure our rabbits don’t go to ground we’ve already covered?” He asked, glancing Azriel’s way as he shifted his wings, ready to take flight. Azriel glanced his way with a smirk, reaching into a pocket and drawing out a glistening black stone. Cassian’s grin echoed his friend’s growing one - he was holding a tracing stone. It rendered those that stumbled across them unconscious and stunned _and_ alerted the owner of the spells, or who they’d been attuned to, that there was prey to catch.

“Perfect,” he smirked, taking off to the sky, feeling Azriel join him shortly thereafter. Steering his gaze towards the first set of caverns he quickly identified, he rushed for them, hoping to find another outlet soon for the newfound urges he had - otherwise, he’d be heading home to his cabin, taking Nesta in any way he could.

 

* * *

“That’s it, yes,” the alchemist smiled, the movements of his lips a mere mockery of the expression, as Stian stood to the side, shuddering and sweating under the magic coursing through his veins, settling into his skin, his soul, his _power._ A third siphon blinked acutely and began to gleam brightly in the cavern where he and  the mortal were surrounded by a ring of corpses, but he didn’t care -- it was _working,_ everything he’d ever wanted was beginning to come to fruition, and he was ready to enact his vengeance.

“A few more bundles like that last one,” the alchemist nodded, giving Stian a grin as he finally stood, able to handle the newfound power at last, looking more or less himself, outside of the gleaming stones seated against his armor, “and you will be ready -- and able to bring me the High Lord.”

“Yes,” he replied, turning his arm around, staring at the stones. He still didn’t know about Rhysand, that was a wild card he didn’t expect to cash in for the mortal alchemist, hungry for their magic as much as he was, but then -- once the General and, no doubt, the Spymaster were out -- his revenge would be complete and whatever else came next was simply icing on the proverbial cake. “But not just yet. I need some more time to gather more men for the slaughter. These-- hide the bodies. I’ll be back soon.” Turning, he moved to the cavern entrance, stretching his wings.

“And what, pray tell, keeps you from your upcoming glory?” The alchemist asked, a hint of irritation and interest in his steel-grey eyes.

Stian smirked. “I have a date with my beloved sister’s new best friend. I’ve fashioned her a sword and I want to make sure she approves of it. Did I mention the General is sweet on her?”

The alchemist said nothing, but once more sent him one of those chilling smiles, and Stian took the silence as a dismissal, taking to the sky with a grin of his own in place.


	18. Chapter 18

“What am I looking at?” Cassian asked, squinting into the darkness below, his large wings the only thing keeping him stable as they beat closely to his body in rapid tandem, allowing him to hover in mid-air inside the deep confines of one of the cavern systems they’d ventured into hours before. So far, they hadn’t seen much, only occasional marks of long-past fires, but the winter winds made it difficult to determine if the fires had been lit a week or a month ago. They had been painstakingly tracing the most obvious systems, setting up the stones Azriel had brought with him, to no avail. This was the first cavern system that showed promise, Azriel having called out to him two tunnels back, leading him here. 

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he brushed off a ripple of unease that rippled over his body, focusing back on the task at hand. He had felt flickers of Nesta brushing the bond and couldn’t resist sending his own responses a time or two, suppressing a chuckle when he felt her surprise, hoping later that he hadn’t compromised her in training. He still felt white hot rage at the idea that Devlon had harmed her, but when he brushed up against her side of the bond a few minutes later, he felt nothing but focus and determination, leaving her be for the remainder of the morning. He hadn’t yet talked to her again in the bond, wanting her training to be over before he started down  _ that _ road, but was pleased that he felt no lingering fear between them - discomfort, yes, but no fear. Again, Nesta had surprised him with how readily she adapted to their bond, sensing she was a lot like him in that regard - for better or worse, they were linked now inexorably and there was no sense in fighting it or the decision they’d both given into rashly. She was his and he was hers and there was no use in arguing against the inevitable. 

“Far left, beyond the fallen debris on the side of the wall. Got it?” Azriel commented, his voice soft, but carrying across the space as if he was standing right beside him. Cassian nodded, then hissed as Azriel lit a flare, his highlighted features grim as he turned, his own wings beating roughly, and tossed the torch down -- into a proverbial graveyard.

“ _ Sweet fucking Cauldron _ ,” Cassian swore, going rigid and closing his wings, slamming into the cavern floor and moving towards the bodies, some of which he recognized the banners of. “These are Worolf’s men, at least some of them are. What in the  _ hell _ is th--”

Azriel dropped down beside him, pressing a sharp hand on his shoulder before he could press forward, closer to the bodies. “ _ Don’t,” _ He hissed, pointing. _ “Look _ .” 

Cassian went still, immobilizing his legs at Azriel’s warning, his eyes zeroing in on where Azriel motioned. There, in the rubble, were bloodied marks across the half-decayed bodies, some familiar and some of unknown origin -almost runic in appearance - but the eerie green-glow film that coated the bloody shapes sent his hackles rising, that sense of unease rippling over him again as he suddenly fought the urge to gag. 

“What in the ten hells _ is _ that?” He hissed, backing up a few steps, watching Azriel do the same as he stared, his expression cold but his hazel eyes alert. He looked back at Cassian before turning once more to the marks, shaking his head slowly.

“I’ve seen these twice before. The first time, when I tried to get into the Mortal Queen’s holdings. The second time, when I was assisting Tamlin rescue his mate. These are the marks of the Alchemists, I’m sure of it. I’ve never felt magic like this, it feels…” He trailed off, tipping his head to the side, staring at the foreboding magic that - now that Cassian knew of it - had his head aching and his limbs feeling heavy.

“ _Vile_ ,” he muttered hoarsely, covering his mouth and moving back to the edge of the tunnel, not looking back where Azriel was still studying the markings. “It feels _vile_.”

Azriel merely nodded, standing and giving Cassian an unreadable look, before his eyes ventured around the cavern again. “Those fires, from earlier, they must have been from last week. These bodies, the cold...it’s hard to tell how long the decomposition has been setting in, but my guess would be -- a week at most. They can’t be too far from these caverns.”

“With any luck, they won’t realize we’ve stumbled on their grave site, and bring more in,” Cassian offered helpfully, watching as Azriel sent him a brief smirk and placed his stone close to where he stood, out of sight. One thing Cassian couldn’t understand is what the Alchemists were doing where and - why kill Illyrians? “Do you know how to read the markings?” 

“No,” Azriel admitted, but looked back towards the bodies once more. “I can see if Amren does, or the library has these markings on file, but…”

“Don’t hold out any hope,” Cassian finished for him. He stilled, remembering what Azriel said to him when they’d met with Feyre and Rhysand in the House of Wind. “You think they’re making Illyrians? Why kill them? Why not do something like a  _ daemati  _ would and just subvert them? But  _ kill _ them? What’s the point?”

“ _Daemati_ effects can be undone,” Azriel commented, his tone dark. “Whatever they’re doing - it’s permanent. I can’t get close enough to inspect, if their wards are anything like they were in the Mortal Lands, but...my guess? They’re stealing their power.”

Cassian felt physically ill. “You’re telling me the deserters are allied with the Alchemists?”

Azriel sighed. “It certainly looks that way.” He glanced Cassian’s way. “We must tell Rhys.”

He didn’t even hesitate, moving towards the tunnel entrance, towards the caverns that would take them back to the Illyrian mountainside and back to Rhysand.

_ Nesta?  _ He grit his teeth as they moved, feeling her surprise and her hesitation, then her steely determination he loved so much once she realized he’d talked in her head, handling it with the tenacity he associated with her.

_ Yes? _

He almost smiled, plowing ahead, acting as if the conversation between them was normal - which it was, for mated pairs.  _ Can’t come home tonight, babe. We’ve got a situation, one that’s-- _

_ Did you get another death threat, Cassian? What are you doing? Are things that bad?  _ He grew pensive as he followed Azriel up the mountain cavern system, watching his friend briefly glance his way, then hold out a hand that he took, gripping his forearm as Azriel did his own, blinking them into shadow - forcing them across land and sea - then landing in one of the conference rooms in the House of Wind. While Azriel was busy messaging the others, he settled into his seat, kicking his feet up at the table that had been replaced thanks to Rhysand’s antics the meeting before, and thought over the concern he felt from her in the bond.

_ Cassian? _

Her hesitation shattered his resolve and he sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his brow.  _ Yeah, love, I’m here. No, no more death threats, but -- things aren’t good, babe. If I need you to move somewhere,  _ he thought hastily, thinking of the camp Feyre had built for the women fighters to go to,  _ would you go? I swear I’ll come as soon as I can, just -- shit’s bad and I want you safe. If something happened to you, I’d…. _

_ Yes,  _ she promptly replied, in that starchy tone he loved, and he forced back a smile. Seeing Rhysand and Feyre winnow in across the room, he stilled once more. 

_ One last thing... _ He paused, then rumbled past the hesitation he sensed on her side.  _ I’m meeting with Rhysand and Feyre soon over some developments. They’ll know, babe. About us. _

The hesitation he felt lingered, even as Rhysand spoke with Azriel, Feyre staying by his side, but beginning to look his way. He nodded at her, but felt his insides roil, worried over the silence he noted on Nesta's side of the bond. It wasn’t for him that made his insides tighten, but her. He knew how deeply she felt, how hard she tried to hide it, and worried that their rejection would dim the small light that had begun to glow inside her, building up her self-esteem. He couldn't stand the thought of something slowing that progress now.

_ I’m sorry I’ve damaged that,  _ she finally replied, the words seemingly jilted and torn from her heart.  _ I know they’d have wished someone better for you.  _ **_I_ ** _ wish someone better for you.  _

_ That  _ had him sitting up, furious - at himself for allowing the Inner Circle to talk about her in such a fashion, at them for doing it in the first damn place, not knowing Nesta’s past, her coping mechanisms for the shitty life she’d been dealt, when they should have given her respect for being Feyre’s sister, if anything else, and at her mother and fate itself for deciding that it had to be  _ now  _ when Nesta finally trusted him enough to open to him so fearlessly. She'd admitted she loved him, for fuck's sake, and now -- now it felt like they were taking two steps back, with the pain he sensed in her words. She felt beneath him and it made him furious, like he'd somehow settled by taking her as a mate.

_ You listen to me, Nesta Archeron,  _ he all but growled down the bond, not caring that the others came up and sat down but he ignored them completely, pouring all his focus into his words in the bond, noting briefly as they settled that Rhysand jerked, then hissed, his eyes swiveling his way, narrowing as his nostrils flared, and Feyre gasped.  _ I love you and I  _ **_told you_ ** _ I don’t give a  _ **_flying fuck_ ** _ who knows it. You are  _ **_MINE_ ** _ and don’t think for  _ **_ONE MINUTE_ ** _ that you aren’t amazing, just as you are. I won't listen to another word about how Nesta Archeron is beneath me. You are magnificent, understand? _

_ Cassian... _ He felt her guilt at hurting him, but his anger was still fueled by the looks he was getting, sensing Rhysand’s shock, concern, disapproval, just as Feyre sat beside him, stunned, her eyes wide, then her lips thinning. Only Azriel had moved to his side, staring back at his High Lord and High Lady with an expressionless stare, but he knew it for the support it was. Rhysand's gaze briefly flickered to Azriel, eyebrows raising momentarily in surprise when  he realized that Azriel knew and didn't disapprove, only to slam down as his violet eyes looked once more towards him.

_ We’ll talk later, and don’t think for a minute to shut me out - got it?  _ He barked back at her, feeling her brief flicker of surprise, a bloom of satisfaction coursing through him when he felt her agreement.

“So,” Rhysand started, once he felt Nesta’s side of the bond go dim and he had snagged Cassian’s full attention. “When did you manage to seduce and mate Nesta Archeron of all people?”

He didn’t even think past the rage he felt - launching himself across the table and wrapping his hands around Rhysand’s throat.

* * *

_That could have gone better,_ she thought weakly as she swallowed, forcing the blanched look out of her face as she reached for the mask she was so accustomed to, settling down in a seat at the table as Astra hummed and worked in the kitchen. Enar, still loyal but unwilling to compromise his safety or Cassian’s orders and come inside, stood guard outside the front door. Training had ended positively and she was so sure Cassian would come home, they'd spend hours in the bedroom, getting to know one another intimately once more, before travelling to more delicate topics -- and now _this_ news.

Hearing Cassian’s words to her through the bond startled her so much that when Astra had come inside the house, only planning to stay a few minutes before going home, she immediately took to cooking dinner, seeing the look of surprise briefly bloom across her face, along with a healthy dose of shock and dismay.

Just thinking of Feyre - the sister who could _do_ _no wrong_ , the sister everyone _loved_ \- looking revolted that Cassian was mated to her now made Nesta instantly furious, because it fucking _hurt._ She closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down and reach for that mask of hers, pleased when it slid into place.

“Everything alright?” Astra asked, looking her way as Nesta briefly struggled with Cassian’s bombshell, before she nodded briefly.

“I suppose,” She offered, not quite willing to lie to Astra and state that she was alright, but also not willing to pay it much attention, either. She had known there would be a day that they’d have to tell the others, the illustrious Inner Circle of the Night Court, Cassian’s closest friends, ex-lovers, and family - all of whom would not bat an eye if she happened to up and die one day, if their current sentiments about her held even a grain of truth to them - she just hadn’t expected  it to be so soon. Rubbing a hand across her chest, she inwardly winced at the flicker of pain she felt there, still surprised to feel that power replete and asleep and content, even with the pain she felt. It seemed, either with Cassian’s help or Astra and Enar’s boasting of her confidence and strength, the more she learned not to fear it, the more it just seemed part of her. Right now, she was thankful for that, shuddering at how terse Cassian had been right before his side of the bond went dark, no doubt hinting at what he was facing, wherever he happened to be that required him to meet the others. “Just a lot on my mind these past few days,” she hedged, feeling Astra’s stare.

Astra’s arched eyebrow in response when she had the strength to look her way told her that she didn’t believe those tenuous words either, but she waved off the look, pointing to what she had pulled from the cold box, boxing up her worries and shoving them into a dark corner of her mind. No sense in fretting over something she couldn’t wholly control. Instead, she focused on a distraction - food. “What’s for dinner?”

“Steak and potatoes,” Astra grinned, holding up the cuts of meat and the vegetables in question. Nesta chuckled, glancing out the window, noting Enar’s piqued interest when her friend held up the dinner offerings before he grinned faintly and turned away. 

“I see,” she commented, her tone laced with humor, knowing Astra was making them for Enar, who had taken the effects of Cassian’s possessive response to their mating well, from what she witnessed all through training. It pleased her he didn’t hold the abuse from Cassian against her, even if it still shocked her to learn he had acted like that at all. 

Astra chuckled, giving Nesta a wink, before she got to work. With little else to keep her mind occupied, Nesta decided to help.

* * *

“Enar?”

Snapping to attention, he blinked - shocked to see the frail form of Astrid staring at him from several yards away, wringing her hands in front of her nervously. She looked tired and worn and he briefly wondered what had her looking so distraught and at General Cassian’s doorstep. “Astrid?” He murmured curiously, stepping closer, looking over her form with surprise. “Everything alright? Something wrong with Hammund or Torin?”

“I don’t know,” she started, bringing a hand to her mouth, a faint sob escaping. “I can’t find them --  _ either  _ of them! Please, you have to help me!”

Enar blinked again, baffled, looking back in the window and staring at his charge - Miss Nesta, Cassian’s bonded mate, and her friend Astra. “I can’t, Astrid, I have a duty here, that..”

“You’d choose to protect  _ her _ over your own family?” Astrid stuttered out, her tone torn between one of sadness, shock, and suppressed fury. “I  _ need  _ you, Enar! Right now! I can’t find my husband or my son and you’re worried about the High Lady’s sister? The one that, if rumors suggest, is a --”

“ _ Stop right there _ ,” he barked, glaring back at her, taking flight and coming to stand by her side. She stared at him, her expression furious but haggard, her appearance disheveled, surprising him as he noted it in detail up close. Glancing back towards the cabin, noting the occupants hadn’t noticed his conversation with his childhood friend, or that he’d left his perch, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.”The General isn’t in, and he left explicit instruction that if I were to leave, I’d be in serious jeopardy of harming my reputation and ranking in the army. Find another, Astrid.”

“ _No,_ not another Enar, it _has_ to be you,” she sobbed, gripping his shoulders so hard, he could feel the tips of her nails through the roughened hide of his leather curiass. He blinked, surprised at the panic there, and her eyes stared at him with a measure of fear. “I can only trust you with what I’ve found.  _ Please _ . It’ll only be for a few hours, I swear it.”

Once more, he looked back towards the cabin, watching the women smiling and talking. Sighing, giving in, he closed his eyes and nodded, opening his wings and following her home.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for those who don't like rape scenes. There's a flashback sequence and attack here that's pertinent to Nesta's character development, but it might make you uneasy if you have problems with such things (though this fic is flagged for that). 
> 
> If you're not into such things, gloss over the italic scenes.

The snow was thick, but not unmanageable, as he beat his wings furiously and tried to desperately dig his feet out from the powdery packed substance as he moved. His wings were like the rest of him, gangly and still in that odd stage between adolescence and adulthood, but he used all the tools his father and new stepfather had taught him, keeping his distance as he stared at the large cavern mouth in the distance, from where he leaned against the gnarled trunk of an old pine tree for cover. He was quiet, far enough away not to be noticed, and made sure as he moved to keep the evidence of his presence minimal.

He felt a niggle of guilt in the back of his conscience at leaving his mother, but not about abandoning the stoic disapproval of his stepfather’s sour cousin, Alaric. That man had made the past few weeks difficult, even if he didn’t intend for it to be so, just sensing that the harsh exterior and mannerisms the man exuded were simply the way he was. Alaric was old, surly, and set in his ways, not taking to Hammund’s youthful curiosity and then outraged backlash when Hammund refused to obey an order or abandon an idea. He was impatient, annoyed when he would ask questions about when Torin would be home, only to be ignored and told to focus on his household tasks and prepare for training come Spring. He had to bite his tongue to snark back that his _father_ had been teaching him war tactics since he was able to walk and he didn’t _care_ about his upcoming training, he was worried for his stepfather, the only other male that had cared about him and his mother enough to claim them as his own. He had been gone for weeks, with no answer to his whereabouts, but Hammund was smart for his age - he had known something had been bothering his stepfather, as early as the day after his mother and him had exchanged bond words in front of the war chief. His mother, strong in her own way, seemed frightened and harshly shushed him when he objected against Alaric’s tone.

Unable to stand it any longer, he left. He knew these forests, had played in them as long as he could remember, and had known that the adults also used them and their secret hiding places in ways that they had as children but for more serious reasons, and had hoped - if he was quick and inconspicuous enough - that he would find Torin and ease his mother’s growing fears. She’d already lost their father, something that pained her as much as it had him, and didn’t want her losing another male that she had begun to love.

“You shouldn’t be here,” an unfamiliar voice murmured from behind him, making him yelp and whirl, facing the stranger that stared back at him with wariness in his tired expression. He gripped the small dagger in his hand steadily, annoyed that his hands trembled, fear still churning sharply in his belly, as he bared his teeth, in what he hoped was a fearless grimace.

“Wh-Who are you?” He asked, his tone falling far short of the fierce tone he had hoped for, sounding far more jittery than he had wanted.

“My name is Zaruk,” the man whispered, his face haggard, surprising Hammund with how gentle it sounded, under such a harshly weathered face. “And you shouldn’t be here, child. Where are your parents?”

“I’m looking for my step-papa, Torin,” he immediately asked, stepping down from where he had wedged himself against the pine tree. He curled his wings tightly against his back, keeping his dagger close, not wanting to let the man know how he still couldn’t quite fly steadily. “He’s missing. I thought he’d been here, in the woods. Have you seen him?”

Something drew the man’s eye and he immediately gripped Hammund’s shoulder painfully, dragging him down to the ground behind the pine, a firm hand clamping over his mouth before he could cry out. So startled by the man’s quick movements, the dagger fell from his grip, lost in the endless inches of snow at his feet, even as he tried to squirm loose from the man’s grasp.

“ _Shhh_ ,” the man hissed sharply in his ear, and he instantly obeyed, going immediately quiet, his eyes widening as he noted two men - one large, with a cloak, another smaller, a mortal of some kind that set his nerves on edge - come out of the cavern mouth several hundred yards away. They stared at one another, smirking, as the mortal opened what appeared to be a portal of some kind, of which bound and chained Illyrian males - older ones - marched through. The larger one, a scar down the left side of his face, laughed at something the mortal had said, and together they dragged the chained men further into the cavern system. Hammund shuddered, feeling his bladder perilously close to loosening in his pants, and trembled against the strong grip of the male behind him that he immediately trusted with his life. Whatever he’d just witnessed was bad.

“Why are those men in chains?” He whispered, once he felt safe enough to speak. The man frowned, shaking his head, looking down at the boy before he released him, then sunk to one knee.

“I’m afraid it’s not good news. Neither is news about your step-papa, boy. I don’t know where he is, but I will try to find him. Can I trust you, with a very important task? It’s only for the most loyal of boys, the bravest of young men, that this gets into the right hands. Can you do this, child?”

Hammund nodded rapidly, his fear blanching the color out of his face. Whatever was going on was bad, he could feel it in his bones, still shuddering at what he had felt when he stared at that mortal man. Mortals weren’t supposed to have powers, but he did, and he could tell that it was very bad magic indeed. “I can be trusted,” he whispered back. “Promise to find my step-papa, and I’ll do whatever you ask.”

The man nodded, looking briefly back at the caverns, then passed him a parchment that was rolled up and sealed in leather. “Take this to General Cassian. Under no circumstances does this go into anyone else’s hands but his own. Understand? This is important, little one.”

“It’s Hammund,” he whispered, watching Zaruk look down at him before he rose. He nodded, then moved back to the caverns, and Hammund watched until he was inside, then hurriedly left, covering his steps as he went.

* * *

As his feet settled onto the cold snow-packed ground outside of an unfamiliar cabin, Enar could immediately tell things were amiss, even as Astrid loosened her grip from his, where he had carried her with him to the place she directed him towards, her wings not cut like most women of breeding age but still not strong enough to carry her the whole way - unused to such heavy use of the weakened muscles needed to drive her where she had directed them. He remembered that when Torin had taken Astrid to wife, they had occupied Gavin’s old home. This place, he didn’t recognize at all. Frowning, he looked her way. “Who’s cabin is this?”

“Alaric’s,” she commented, not meeting his gaze, as she moved to the front door. Enar blinked, not expecting them to be standing at the cabinfront of Torin’s cousin. He didn’t know the man well, so much older than him and Torin, but remembered an odious but loyal elder whenever he would come visit Torin’s family as they grew into men. “He is at the tavern at this hour,” she continued, oblivious to the surprise that flickered across his face, marching towards the cabin, “so it’s safe to enter. No one will notice or tell him of your arrival. I’ve kept what I’m about to show you….away from him and Hammund. This is bad, Enar, and I want to make sure you see it before I decide what I should do.”

Almost immediately, he tensed, noting what she commented about, nodding tersely as he followed her inside. She kept her gaze lowered, moving towards a room in the back of the cabin, smaller than the master suite but still rather large, clearly the room she shared with Hammund and Torin, whenever he had been in at the time.

“How long has he been gone, Astrid?” He asked, as he followed her into the room, watching her lean down, reach under the bed, and draw out a small unmarked box. Her eyes flickered his way as she lifted the lid, digging through old dusty parchments, before withdrawing a journal, standing and moving towards him again. He noted she didn’t look at Hammund’s bed, pain bracketing her mouth as she handed him the journal.

“A few weeks. Hammund has only been gone since yesterday evening, but I am worried, after I searched  and found...this.” She motioned to it, and Enar looked down, to the journal he held in his grip, and steadied his breath before he opened it and read.

His eyes closed, pain flaring underneath his skin, as the implications to the words he had just read from the journal sunk in. He recognized the writing as his friend’s, horrified at the context, but unable to deny them for what they were. He had known Torin had been distraught - moreso than the rest of their friends - at what had occured down South with the war against Hybern and what fate had befallen their best friend, Gavin, but he hadn’t known the extent until now.

Reading the words below, at what he had promised Gavin, when he’d witnessed his death firsthand, holding his hand as that horrific magic had ripped him from this plane and into the afterlife in an agonizing way, he knew that the rumors of revolt were true and that Torin was at the heart of it. It surprised him, that his friend would abandon Astrid and Hammund to pursue this insane notion of steering Illyria away from the Inner Circle’s control, some of whom he had come to respect over the past few weeks, knowing not even beings as powerful as them could have known what was in store for them during the war, but he sensed why Torin felt he had to do it. The way he wrote of Gavin, now gone, was bitterly painful.

“I was worried, if I took this to the war chief, or Alaric, that they’d label me and Hammund as traitors as well,” she whispered, her pale expression full of fear, bringing Enar’s mind back to the present. “I’m so _scared_ , Enar. Hammund took to Torin so vigorously when Gavin died and we were bonded by the village. He was growing to love him, and when Torin brought us here, claiming he had work that would make him need to travel elsewhere, Hammund was curious and concerned when that absence stretched from days to weeks. When he asked Alaric where he was, and Alaric refused to answer….I fear…” She sobbed, bringing her hand to her mouth, her painful cries interrupting her speech, making his heart ache as he reached for her, knowing exactly what she was afraid of. Enar tugged her into a hug, softly patting her hair, as she finally found the strength to continue, “I’m so afraid that he went to find him and stumbled into this revolt I keep hearing about. He’ll be _killed_ , Enar, for _treason_ , and he’s just--he’s just a _child!_ He didn’t know his stepfather would be part of this madness! Please, Enar, _help me!”_

“I will,” he promised, staring at the journal in his hands as he rubbed Astrid’s shoulders, letting her sob out her fear and stress. “We will find the boy, and Torin--you know, I cannot protect him from the fate he chose, Astrid. Even if it hurts you.”

“I know,” she whispered, pulling back and wiping the wet tracks of her tears off her face. “Just save my boy. He is innocent, Enar.”

He sighed and nodded, drawing another cloak from the bed around her, then motioned her to join him as he headed back to Cassian’s cabin.

* * *

A swift knock to the door drug Nesta and Astra out of their amused conversation, issuing a flicker of surprise across her face before she turned to the window, not sensing Enar outside. Instantly, fear flickered against her insides, and she felt that power inside her unfurl, but she soothed it, thinking it a simple oversight, and moved towards the door.

When she opened it, she blinked in surprise at what she saw.

There, in heavy leathers lined in sheepskin, was the blacksmith she’d run into before in the town’s square, holding a wicked looking short sword, nestled inside a decorative scabbard, a heated flicker of awareness shooting through his dark eyes as he stared at her.

“Told you I’d be back, bring you this once it was done,” he murmured at her, just loud enough to reach her ears but not carry, as he looked her over so thoroughly, she felt herself bristle, and stepped inside. His grin was only marred by the savage scar against the left side of his face, but suddenly - it was as if something changed in his appearance, the coldness melting, being replaced with a warmth that somehow seemed fake.

“Astra? You’re here for dinner as well, little sister?”

 _Little sister…._ Nesta blinked, locking her face down into the cold mask she always wore, even as those damning words startled her, making her insides jolt in surprise as she looked her friend’s way, watching an unbidden smile transform her face. She glanced back at the blacksmith, noting his forced grin, the murkiness still in his eyes, but hidden to most, but she wasn’t fooled. She had learned intimately over the years how to mask true emotion -- and also how to fake them. This man - _Astra’s brother -_ was an imposter, and she instantly felt protective of her friend, who seemed oblivious to the glaringly obvious faults in her brother. She scrambled to think over what her friend had commented on about him - _She said he was a blacksmith, and their home had been...hard? Was that it? -_ as she watched him step further into the room, setting aside the blade to open his arms, just as Astra squealed and pounced him, giving him a fierce hug.

“ _Stian!_ What are you doing here? Wait -- _Nesta_ was the one you’ve been working for? You made her a sword?” Astra asked, breathless as she grinned at her brother’s smile, while Nesta stayed a few feet back, watching with the arctic look so many despised her for. Astra’s brow briefly wrinkled her way in confusion, but soon she was swept up once more in Stian’s grin, looking at the blade briefly before she slapped Stian’s side. “Where’s mine?”

Stian’s bark of laughter almost made Nesta jump, sensing it again for what it was - malicious, tinged in a darkness she knew well. A glimmer of that darkness was buried inside her, after all. She said nothing, watching Stian look her way as Astra teased him then kissed his cheek, wanting him to stay for dinner. She looked back fearlessly, earning a glimmer of recognition that he was aware she wasn’t fooled by his outward jovial attitude, a true feral grin teasing sharp perfectly aligned teeth underneath his large smile.

“May a humble servant of the forge grace your dinner table, my Lady?” He asked her, the soft cadence in which he spoke rousing her gift once more. Internally urging it to calm but stay alert, she narrowed her eyes at his use of the word ‘Lady,’ knowing he meant it as an insult.

“I think we both know I am no Lady,” she commented to him, like she once had with Enar that one time when they’d first met, but without the ease and camaraderie that had been present in that conversation. “Take a seat, Blacksmith. Eat.”

“It’s Stian,” he murmured, stepping close once more as Astra let go of him and moved into the kitchen, seeing to the last few preparations of the dinner. _Where the hell is Enar?_ She wondered, as he took her hand once more - like he had the day they’d met by the Smithy’s - placing a kiss at the pulseline on her wrist. He stilled, his eyes gleaming briefly, as he turned her hand and _sniffed._ Suddenly, a darkness seemed to suffuse him, not unlike when  Rhysand’s powers rippled out of control, just this time with no blanket of stars. “You are mated. To General Cassian.”

She didn’t answer, tugging her wrist out of his grip, burying it in her skirts, watching him stare so long, she felt her insides shriek in warning. Almost immediately, as before, he grinned and resumed that nauseatingly _fake_ appearance of being unconcerned, though she knew instinctively that if Cassian were here, he’d be pommeling this man’s face into oblivion the way he was looking at her.

Glancing back as Astra hurried between the kitchen and the table, seemingly pleased her sibling had finally gotten around to meeting her new found friend, Nesta held back the sudden urge to call Cassian home in the bond, clamping down on her stirring instincts and sinking into a chair.

Stian stared, settling down next to her, and she noted his thighs brushed hers from where he sat.

Astra, oblivious to the tension, simply grinned and began serving them both.

* * *

_“How fucking_ **_dare_ ** _you,”_ He roared, slamming his fist into Rhysand’s face, even as his other squeezed down, watching his friend jolt and then retaliate, instantly suffusing the room in darkness. He heard Azriel move Feyre out of the way, as she shouted from a few feet away for them to stop, but he was too lost to the fury burning through his veins. _“How dare you insult her! She’s my fucking_ **_mate_ ** _!”_

He hadn’t realized, not until a few minutes later, that he had managed to bruise Rhysand’s eyelid and jaw, bust his lip and nose, feeling the remnants of that spurt of blood coating his fists, until Azriel had finally used his shadows to ease him off his friend.

Panting, he stared, his eyes hard and his heart aching, as Rhysand struggled to stand, wiping at his mouth. His violet eyes glowed, furious but also contrite, as Feyre rushed forward and touched his injuries, her own blue eyes turning on him, alight with accusation.

“And _you,”_ He hissed at her, ignoring Rhysand’s growing fury, at the damange his magic was doing to the room, and him, spitting at her feet. “Have you forgotten what you were like when you first came here? You were in fucking _pieces_ , Feyre. You think because Nesta’s outwardly cold, that it was _any different_ for her? That you’re the only one allowed to fall apart, break, and be put back together, all while not being subjected to nasty ass comments from those you should trust the most? Huh?”

 _“That’s enough, Cassian,”_ growled Rhysand in warning, but he cast his eyes towards his best friend, second only to Azriel, who had existed in the hellish ways of a bastard before Rhys had shown up with his mother when they were children, showing them both there was a better way to live, bastard or not.

“I don’t think it is, Rhys,” he growled back, feeling Azriel’s hand coming to settle on his shoulder. Only for Azriel’s sake, did he not launch himself at Rhysand again, when he saw his friend’s eyes narrow dangerously, his power still screwing with the insides of the conference room, rattling the walls and the mortar. “You have no fucking right to judge her or me. She is my godsdamned _mate_ , Rhys. I supported you when you brought Feyre here, even when it meant outright war with Spring. I supported you, even when you knew for _months_ she was your mate but didn’t tell me or Az, only Mor, who happened to witness your little breakdown when you returned from Under the Mountain. I have supported you in _anything_ you’ve ever asked of me, and you -- _what?_ Insult my fucking mate instead of congratulating me? _Fuck you._ ”

Once more, Rhysand’s power rippled dangerously through the room, but not before it immediately flickered out, a painful expression on Rhysand’s face. He turned, not able to stand staring at it any longer, glancing at Azriel, who stared ahead at Rhysand, his face expressionless as always but still standing at his side, supporting him. He clapped Azriel’s shoulder before he moved across the room, speaking when he felt Rhysand about to talk. “I’ll be your General, the leader of your soldiers, your loyal servant, but you better fucking think about apologizing first before you dream of being my friend again.”

Feyre gasped again, and he narrowed his eyes her way, knowing by the look on her face he meant those words equally for her. Azriel stood still, still holding Rhysand’s furious glare, while he looked over her, watching her face turn a faint shade of pink. She sighed, trying to step forward and open her mouth, but he shook his head subtly, still too furious at her earlier look of distaste to be open to conversation now.

Taking Azriel’s typical stance, he moved to the far side of the room, canting his gaze towards the door, as Azriel murmured both Rhysand and Feyre’s names, bringing them back to the reason they were here to begin with - to tell them of what they had found.

“The alchemists are here, Rhys,” Azriel spoke softly, sending the room once more into a shattered field of stardust as Rhysand’s snarl rippled through the room.

 _“What?_ How?”

“We found the evidence in the caverns. The same symbols I had seen painted on one of the Mortal Queen’s castle, the same painted on Shula, to extract her…”

“Essence, yes. You’d told me this,” Rhysand cut off, cursing loudly under his breath. He looked to Feyre, who swallowed and took his hand, glancing back at Azriel. “You still don’t know how to read them?” Azriel shook his head, and Rhysand cursed again, pacing. “I met with the war chiefs you both listed. They’re in support of us and will tell us when they notice more missing. The war chiefs that didn’t approve of me -- I left them with little doubt what I’d do if they disobeyed me. But to side with these fucking monsters? _Fuck.”_

Suddenly, he stopped, glancing at Azriel. “Send word to Spring. I need to speak with High Lady Shula...immediately. Summon Amren, too. Maybe she can meet us there and make sense of these symbols.”

“High Lady Shula is with child,” Azriel reminded him gently, glancing to Feyre. “As is your mate. Perhaps we should go through Tamlin. Just have her draw the symbols.”

“Very well,” Rhysand muttered, moving to look at Feyre, cup her cheek, touch her stomach. The gentleness in which he did it made Cassian sick, furious that if _he_ had done the same with Nesta, he would be met with hostility and stares.

“Send Mor to help you two search the caverns,” Rhysand suddenly demanded, as if sensing Cassian’s fury, sending it into further orbit as he looked his way. “It seems the time in which you have to find these traitors is growing ever smaller, if the alchemists are involved. Or will that be a problem…. _General?”_

“No,” He snarled back, standing to attention. “I exist to serve,” he spat, bowing, then looked Azriel’s way, sensing his friend’s concern at Rhysand’s coldness, but relieved when he seemed to understand that no matter what, he would always be loyal to the Court.

“I will send word,” Azriel murmured, his voice soft, and Cassian didn’t wait for further instruction, winnowing out of the room immediately.

* * *

“Were you in the war, Stian?” Nesta asked, noting his battered wings and the scar against the side of his face as he continued to stare in a way that made her uncomfortable. Astra stilled, playing with the food on her plate, as Stian grinned her way.

“More or less,” he commented, leaning forward, brushing his arm against her shoulder as he reached for a roll, bringing it to his mouth as he watched her. “But that’s not where I got most of them,” he continued, watching her like a snake. Nesta stared back, noting briefly out of the corner of her eye that Astra frowned, looking uncomfortable, glancing out the window.

“Where is Enar?” She suddenly blurted, as if noticing for the first time, after the excitement of her brother’s appearance waned, that he was missing.

“Gone,” her brother replied absently, still staring at Nesta. She frowned, watching him shred the delicate yeasty roll between the pads of his fingers, as he smiled her way. “Why don’t you go see if you can find him, hm? I heard he’s staying at the Inn. I’ll keep Miss Nesta company until you get back, show her the new sword I made her.”

Astra glanced Nesta’s way and she nodded, watching Stian as her friend gathered her coat and moved to the door. “Be back in a bit,” she called, stepping outside and closing the door quickly, her tone worried.

Nesta simply watched Stian, who’s eyes never left hers. He smiled once the door shut, sealing them inside together.

“You know,” he commented, and she knew exactly what he referred to. His otherness, his alienness, his total lack of empathy, even when those closest to him, like his sister that Nesta could tell loved him dearly, had missed.

“Yes,” she replied, sipping on her water glass, tilting her head to the side, letting her eyes linger at the scar on his face. “You were telling me about the scars.”

“My father,” he replied, inching forward, reaching for her free hand, and she forced herself not to tense and jerk back, even as his very presence in the room set her insides ablaze with fear. That gift itched to be let loose, warning her with a heat inside her stomach, but she waited patiently for him to go on. “Was a war chief. Feared, in his own way, in the small village he ruled, feeling like he was meant for greater things with greater people, but it wasn’t to be so.”

Stian grinned, leaning down and sniffing at her wrist once more, as if once more reaffirming the mingled scent he knew would be there, his aura once more turning dark, dangerous. “He had his pick of warriors, of women and wives, but the one he _really_ wanted, was a female of low birth. I would see him, staring at her, as she smiled his way across the town square, and knew what they had been doing. Astra didn’t see it, my mother didn’t see it, but I did.”

He sighed, closing his eyes, tugging her wrist into his lap, where he tightened his fingers against her wrist. She swallowed as she listened, fearing where this story would go. “When he found out, of course, he beat me. Endless beatings, to his _legitimate son,_ when I had found out about his whore and the bastard he’d placed in her womb. He nearly killed me when he found out I told a neighboring village, who’s war chief demanded her to name her son’s progeny. She didn’t, of course, because she _loved him._ ”

Stian opened his eyes, staring at her with a darkness so cold in them, she couldn’t help but feel the mask slip, fear glimmering in her eyes. “Do you know what love is, Nesta Archeron, sister of Feyre Archeron, wife and mate of High Lord Rhysand? It is a _lie_.”

Suddenly, he slammed her against the table, thrusting his mouth against hers, his tongue trying to pry between her lips. She screamed, flooding the bond, feeling Cassian’s side stir, but soon she was drowning in panic, flashes of her past coming to her as she fought, railing against Stian’s unwanted advances.

 

_“Come on, babe, let me between those sweet thighs,” Thomas laughed, tugging on her skirts. She shoved him - hard. He fell over into the mud, fury twisting his features._

_“Stop it! I said no!” She screamed at him, shuddering, as he quickly got to his feet, then slammed into her, shoving her to the ground, gripping her throat so hard she couldn’t breathe._

_“Fucking bitch,” he snarled, reaching up and shredding her undergarments, roughly shoving his fingers up inside her so harshly, instant pain welled between her legs. His hand clamped down on her mouth as she screamed, sobbing. She kicked, screamed, fought, but he was so strong. If it wasn’t for the village baker’s wagon moving by, with its load of wheat flour form the mill and the men that helped move it, he would have finished what he started. Instead, he rolled off her, spitting on her, then took off running, leaving her sitting in the sodden snow that soaked her gown, bringing her knees to her chest, afraid to investigate the sharp burn of agony that still flickered between her legs._

 

“Get your hands off me!” She shrieked, wild with panic and fury, feeling Cassian’s roar down the bond, just as she crumbled those innate walls she always had up inside her, feeling her fingers begin to glow. Stian merely grunted, reaching for her skirts, and she ripped her hands out of his grip and let _go._

The jolt of power that sent him soaring, parts of his clothing dissolving, the skin underneath turning a charred black, made him snarl in pain. She blinked, blanching, as she watched his power surge -- eerily similar to the way Cassian’s did, but somehow perverted, _wrong._

“You little whore,” he spat, standing as they both heard a faint boom outside. “This isn’t over,” he hissed, winnowing from sight, just as the door exploded inwardly and Cassian came roaring inside.


	20. Chapter 20

Morrigan sat at the table, staring across the long length of oak, doing her best to bring the spoon she used to her lips without trembling. She’d been here a month and it was a month too long. Jurien, for his part, seemed as unentertained with her presence as she was with his, and Lucien was kind, if a bit distracted with personal matters, but Vassa…

_ Fuck,  _ she thought, watching as Vassa’s blue eyes met her golden ones, staring at her as she tried once more to shovel the food the three of them had cooked into her mouth, hoping she didn’t look a fool. It wasn’t just that the woman was beautiful and young and reminded her painfully of Andromache, but what she was capable of, even while cursed four days of the month, had Morrigan half out of her mind with nerves. She, the  _ Truthseer,  _ knew what insurmountable odds Vassa faced each and every day since being betrayed by her ruling peers and yet rose and faced each day with a courage that humbled Morrigan. 

She was very much afraid her feelings for Vassa went well beyond appreciation for what the woman could overcome and everything to do with love.

“Is the porridge not to your liking?” Vassa asked, her brow furrowing, as she tilted her head to the side. Jurien barely noticed the exchange and Lucien only briefly looked up from reading notes from Tamlin, but Morrigan froze, feeling her face heat.  _ Shit, she caught me staring. _

“No,” She murmured, shoving the spoon with said porridge into her mouth, swallowing painfully. “‘S good.” Inwardly, she groaned. She sounded like Cassian when he was in one of his moods to moon over Nesta.

Thinking of Nesta, she immediately felt her nerves settle, since the  thought of  _ that  _ woman thoroughly soured any odd mood she had when staring at Vassa. It wasn’t that she hated her, she just wished the woman wasn’t so-- she shook her head subtly, forcing herself to stop that line of thinking. She  _ knew  _ Nesta, probably better than anyone else, maybe even Cassian, so she didn’t hate Feyre’s sister, only wished she was...well-- _ not her _ . She knew the deep wells of pain Nesta felt and  _ why  _ she was the way she was, she just wished someone less callous for her friend. She bit the inside of her cheek, knowing how thoroughly awful that sounded, given what  _ she  _ had been through in her life. It wasn’t that she had snooped into Nesta’s past, or prodded Ellain for the use of  _ her _ gift in why Nesta was the way she was -- she just  _ knew _ , like she  _ knew _ many things.

Sometimes being the  _ Truthseeker _ flat out sucked.

It was a gift that she often wished she could cast off. It made her feel at times, the highest of hypocrites, but she was so used to feeling the truth -  and yet, ironically, kept the most valuable truths from her friends rather than face them - that it made her situation at often times downright uncomfortable. That was why, at the time, when Rhysand had needed someone to go South, see that Tamlin and Shula and the three sitting in front of her were holding to their promise, she’d jumped at the excuse -  _ again, as always -  _ to avoid facing the truth of who she was, what was going on between her friends and the extended Archeron family, and left. No, not left,  _ run,  _ like the coward that she was, forcing down the rising gorge of her heavy self-loathing as she shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Now, having seen and witnessed Vassa, she morosely almost missed the discomfort of dealing with the Inner Circle’s drama and even -  _ Cauldron forbid  _ \- the vile piece of trash that was her own father. 

_ One day,  _ she thought, knowing her fingers trembled as she smoothed them through her hair, having less to do with the beautiful woman across from her and the mess she always seemed to get herself into,  _ You need to reveal your secret. This pretense is killing you.  _ The thought of what it could do to her friends, to her, made her insides shrivel up, but the alternative was this slow, agonizing death of her spirit.

Sighing, she lowered her eyes, staring at her bowl and plate, feeling Vassa’s eyes on her as well as her questioning aura, chewing and swallowing and refusing to look back up, glancing to her side at the letter from Azriel, addressed by way of Rhysand’s House wax seal, having not read the letter yet since it arrived this morning through shadows, to her bedside table. She had carried it to the table, as the others often did and were doing now, using dinner as a means to catch up on correspondences. She usually didn’t, so that Vassa had someone to talk to, given that her own people and co-rulers had betrayed her, knowing she must have felt isolated, and now regretted it - given the stupid asinine infatuation she had developed over the woman. Vassa, for her part, said nothing, even as Morrigan could continue to feel her eyes on her.

Finally seeking an excuse to cover the slow return of tension in the room between her and the exiled Mortal Queen in front of her, she reached for it, tore open the wax seal, and read.

_ Morrigan, _

_ I hope this letter reaches you in good spirits. There has been some unexpected development in regards to the mortal alchemists. Please go to Spring and ask for an audience with their High Lord and High Lady. We need detailed drawings of the symbols used against her, if they’re willing to offer. Please use discretion and ask Shula to keep the matter private, as we don’t want to unwittingly allow our suspects to know of our intentions. When you have these, return at once to the  House of Wind. We have further assignments for you. _

_ Regards, _

_ Az _

Her brows knit together curiously, a frown tugging at her lips. The alchemists were moving on Prythian again? Where? In  _ Night?  _ She struggled to understand the hidden truths behind Azriels words, but it was Lucien that time that pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Something wrong?”

She looked up, noticing all three of them staring at her. She shifted again in her chair, folding up the letter and sliding it inside her curiass, not meeting Vassa’s eyes again as she shifted her gaze over to Jurien. “A note from Night. I need to visit Spring and then head home.” Her eyes roamed once more to Lucien, noting the brief flicker of surprise in Jurien’s eyes before she did so. “Will you join me?”

“Of course,” Lucien offered, nodding his head. The brief flicker of softness in his eyes wasn’t for her, she knew, but for Tamlin and Shula. Over the past month that she had stayed here, she had noticed Lucien often absent, visiting Spring. It seemed, whatever rift Feyre had caused between the two males, Shula had healed. The few times she had joined him, she continued to be surprised at the recovery in Spring, the openness she saw between the reformed Court and its subjects, of which they continued to gain more of each day. News had spread of Spring’s recovery and even Hybern’s now leaderless isle - still ruled by some minor nobles of his court - seemed as silent as the Mortal Lands below. It was worrisome that no news passed about what was happening in their realms, but it was also a relief. It meant peace for Prythian, and Spring had rebounded into a formidable court again because of it, even forming truces and cooperation with Autumn and Summer. She still felt a spike of panic every now and then, knowing Eris was now High Lord in place of Beron’s death at the hands of Tamlin, but the gossip that came from Autumn was surprisingly dull and sparse. Whatever Eris was doing, he was doing in secret.

“We’ll leave first thing in the morning,” she commented back, standing, no longer hungry. Vassa continued to stare her way, but she refused to look back, too worried she’d see something in her face she didn’t want the Mortal Queen noticing. “I’ll be in my rooms, preparing my bags, if you’ve need of me. Good eve.”

Not waiting for permission to leave, not that Lucien or Jurien would have cared, she turned and left, stalking out the door at a pace perhaps too quick to be at ease. Pulse quickening, she shuddered, closing her eyes and moving faster, not stopping until she reached her rooms and the door was firmly between her and the woman she’d begun to want more than anything she’d wanted in decades.

 

* * *

“ _ What the hells just happened? _ ” Snapped Rhys, once Cassian winnowed out, eyes dark and clouded, jaw clenched in fury.

Azriel looked up from where he finished penning his last message to Amren, coaxing the shadows at his call to whisper back to him, slink out and reach for the letter in question, and send it through a pocket portal to its intended recipient. 

“You really have to ask?” He murmured softly, lifting his gaze when he saw Rhysand turn, eyeing him furiously, Feyre gently stroking his shoulders, murmuring his name. When his eyes met Feyre’s, he saw the recognition there -  _ Yes, you know what I mean. Good. She is your sister, after all.  _ Feyre’s eyes hardened as his expressionless gaze met her own, but she had the decency to lower them, biting at her lower lip with her teeth, feeling a flicker of remorse in the way her brow tugged into a wrinkled expression of embarrassment.

“ _ What?” _ Rhysand barked, his question shifting into a growl, as Azriel finally returned his gaze  back to his friend, his  _ best _ friend only outside of Cassian, who had left in such fury, his anger could still be felt subtly in the room.

“Rhys --” He started, pausing as he saw Rhysand’s violet eyes crackle dangerously with power, amending his tone, allowing it to turn sharp as he met his friend’s gaze head on, not in the least bit frightened by Rhysand’s rising power levels in the room, hinting at his how volatile his mood was. Rhysand had to know, of course, deep down, why he was upset, but Azriel chose to spell it out for him in any event, reminding him bluntly how his reaction had wounded his friend. “ _ My Lord,”  _ he murmured, bowing his head briefly, not meaning it as an insult, even knowing Rhysand took it as such in the way his eyes narrowed. “You are High Fae. A half breed, yes, but -- not a bastard. Not raised like Cass or I were. Unwanted, alone, left to the elements….or in a cage.” He barely whispered those last few words, his lips tightening as he admitted his own childhood uncomfortably in the room. Rhysand and Feyre both went perfectly still, staring at him.

“All our lives, we’ve fought to be loved, despite our culture telling us that we’re not allowed it. We are the  _ exception _ to the rule, the offspring of something deemed vulgar, and treated as such. Cass and I are stronger than most, and you enforce our stations, but despite all we’ve done -- we still feel the lingering effects of that...pain.” Azriel kept his expression flat, unmoving, only expressing what he’d felt his  _ whole life  _ because it was important for Cassian’s hurt to be addressed. He learned, long ago, not reveal any emotion on his face to allow his opponent an advantage. Better to leave them guessing, staring at a blank slate, than to allow them a window to cause harm, not that Rhysand or Feyre ever would, but it was too deeply ingrained a lesson from his childhood to give that tactic up now, even for them. The scars on his hands proved a constant reminder of that lesson.

“When you looked disgusted, you  _ hurt _ him, Rhys. Far worse than most could ever have. Nesta is strong, and not undamaged herself. I think we all recognize the broken edges in ourselves enough to see the same in her,” he murmured, glancing towards Feyre, watching Rhysand’s power slink back into him, his very form slouching, swaying, as he closed his eyes, realizing too late the error in his reaction. “Nesta is---difficult,” he admitted softly, watching Feyre tense and Rhysand’s eyes open once more, “but she is his  _ mate,  _ Rhys. She deserves respect for that, at least. Trust that Cass can reach her and sees something worthy in her. Of him, of us.”

It made his stomach tense when suddenly, the image of Astra appeared in his mind's eye. He swallowed thickly, ignoring the burning sensation of arousal course through his veins. Something he didn't feel often these days, even when he occasionally entertained thoughts of Morrigan - though he knew, deep down, they were mere friends. It had just become so convenient to think of her -- until he'd met that headstrong Illyrian female.

Turning, he shook his head, clearing his thoughts of _her,_ feeling unaccustomed to discussing the intentions of his brother-in-arms so openly and the sudden introspection that took his mind in directions he'd rather presently avoid. “I will meet Amren at her apartment,” he suddenly offered, feeling the shadows trailing at his neck, licking and hissing and whispering in that darkness he’d long since grown accustomed to, since he was a child and locked away in that pit, that she had got his message and was returning. “She is on her way back. Varian is accompanying her.”

He heard, rather than saw, their nods and shuffling of forms. Reaching out, caressing those shadows that had  been his friend long before he knew words or fellow kindness from others like Cassian or Rhysand, he allowed them to wrap themselves around him and move him.

* * *

“You really think the General will help me? Help us find Hammund? Not blame him for Torin’s madness?” Astrid whispered, as moved them outside. He trained his eyes towards the village square in the distance, relieved he still didn’t see any indication that Alaric was on his journey home. What they had unearthed about his cousin’s potential crimes against the Inner Circle would not sit well with the older male.

“I do,” he answered honestly, glancing her way, watching her tug the cloak he’d placed about her shoulders tighter against the cold Northern winds, once they stepped down the few loose steps of Alaric’s porch, towards an open patch of wilderness that would allow him to tug her close and take flight. “I’ve been watching his ward, Nesta, and he has been extremely fair. Worried, yes, but fair. He’s even trying to allow women to fight. I know Torin didn’t approve, but--I can see why he wants to do it. I’ve learned a little too much lately how hard it is on you without a male. ‘Tis wrong, Astrid, what we force you to do.”

Astrid blinked, her cheeks pinkening, as she stared at him. The way she stared made him uncomfortable, grimacing as he thought back to how Gavin had claimed her, when they were all just old enough to hold swords. Now, thinking of what Nesta and Astra had gone through, it seemed barbaric. Astrid surprised him by nodding and patting his shoulder, putting him at ease. As she curled her arms around him, and he opened his wings to take to the skies, a sudden cry had them both freezing, glancing down at each other, then looking to the very sky that they’d been seconds away from jolting into. 

“Mama! Uncle Enar!” Panted Astrid’s son, his fledgeling wings struggling to keep him in the air, his landing wobbly at best, sending him crashing at their feet. He stared as Astrid dropped to her knees, grabbing hold of his shoulders and squeezing, screaming her fury, some of her words swallowed by sobs as she ran her hands over his form, looking for injuries. “I found them! And I got  _ this!”  _ He held up a sealed leather tube, but when Enar reached for it, he blanched and held it behind his back. “No, you can’t look, Uncle Enar! The male made it very clear it’s only for General Cassian! We have to go and give it to him! He’s going to help me find step-papa, you see.” Hammund looked over at his mother, flinching as he finally registered her words and sobs. “You know, so you don’t have to be sad anymore, Mama. Don’t worry, it’ll all work out. Right, Uncle Enar?”

  
“ _ You stupid, stupid, precious boy, _ ” Astrid sobbed, clutching him close. Enar stared, shaking his head, unable to help the smile at the unexpected gift the boy had brought them.


	21. Chapter 21

_ That stupid bitch! What the fuck did she do to me?  _ His thoughts roared in his mind as he held a hand to his agonizing left side, crashing into the snow outside the cavern entrance he had claimed in secrecy, away from the others he had managed to coax into the mountains with him. They had been gaining tributes as the weeks dragged on, but those needed for what the Alchemist wanted, they took by other means. He didn’t care, as long as he got what he wanted in the end, it was worth any price.

Still, he found himself shocked - no,  _ infuriated  _ \- that the High Born female tucked away in the General’s cabin was not only his play thing, she was his  _ mate,  _ and she was  _ powerful.  _ Glancing towards the yawning cavern opening, he whistled, waiting for his companion to join him from whatever amusements he had been busying himself with this evening, while Stian had been presenting Nesta with her new blade. He had no risk of exposure here, thankful for the foresight to park himself and his mortal ally away from the others, and noisily sat down at the banked fire outside the cavern entrance, stifling a curse as agony blazed into his limbs with the movement. He was still furious she’d slipped past his defenses, having wanted nothing more than to break some fragile part of herself tonight once he realized what she was, but he hadn’t counted on her being so strong.

Looking down, his fury and begrudging admiration for the High Born female grew as he noted the wound. His armor was crumbling, exposing the wound that looked both burnt and broken, a gnarled mess of charred skin and slick smooth muscle underneath, underlined by decaying skin around the edges. Hissing faintly, he peeled off his cuirass and tried to summon that power the Alchemist had been giving him over the past few weeks, but whatever the bitch had done, it was beyond his ability to heal.

“My, my.  _ That _ looks painful. Whatever did you manage to get yourself into  _ this time,  _ Lord Haavik?” 

Stian narrowed his eyes in the direction of Josias, who stared back from the mouth of their secluded cavern, his eyes riveted to the wound at his side. Ignoring his title, the one he hated, the one that reminded him of that cold-hearted male he had the misfortune of calling father, he rolled a shoulder, displaying more of the grueling wound, hoping the man took the silent demand for what it was. Josias didn’t move and he barely bit back his wrath in time to note the gleam of interest in the mortal’s eyes, motioning to the wound with a snort. “Heal it, quit making love to it with your eyeballs, you twisted fuck. Don’t have enough power to seal it right now. Be useful and make something of it so I can move again, advance my plans.”

“Again, I ask: Wherever did you get such a lovely thing?” Josias murmured, stepping forward and placing a palm against the wound, his fingertips trailing the edges of it, clearly the movements indicating a half-inspection, half-caress. Stian grunted, not sure whether or not he should be disgusted or amused.

“Can you believe Cassian’s little tart did this to me?” He said in return, hissing faintly when Josias’ magic began to work, sealing the wound, but leaving a horrid scar in its place. He dismissed it.  _ They can join the rest of them, it doesn’t matter. None of it matters, so long as I get what I want. _

When his words registered with Josias, he immediately stilled, his eyes narrowing. “ _ Explain. In detail.” _

Stian stood up, towering over the mortal, keeping his voice as harsh as his motives and his soul. “She’s mine, mortal. Only I get to break her, understand?”

Josias rolled his eyes, chuckling and patting his shoulder like a child. He barely held back breaking his windpipe, bristling at the implication that the man was taunting him, laughing at his demand. “ _ Please. _ I don’t want the woman to rape her, Fae cunt is something I never want to taste in this lifetime. I merely want to study her. How did she do it? What exactly occurred? That wound was--unusual.”

He stared at Josias, at the pause as the man looked back at him and seemed nearly  _ gleeful.  _ Something was different, he could sense it in the undercurrent of the air, but he finally went on, parceling back what he could remember before the pain and being thrown clear across the room. Josias stared, fascinated, asking him to repeat several moments, stretch out milliseconds into vivid descriptive detail, until he began himself to realize the rare jewel Cassian’s female was.

“She was Cauldron born,” Josias breathed, his eyes almost glowing. “It-- _ gave _ her something.” Suddenly, his eyes tore to Stian. “You  _ must  _ obtain her. Bring her to me, wholly intact - only physically, of course, you can rape her all you like - but I  _ must  _ have her, understand?”

Stian weighed the man’s sudden interest in her. “Her for the High Lord. She’ll be easier to obtain.”

Josias’ face went dark as he stared, and Stian drilled in the exchange with added words. “Or I kill her once I’m done with her and you get nothing but her bones.”

That set the man’s fury rising, but he felt victory when he watched the man finally nod, his expression dark but subdued. “Very well, Lord Haavik. A change of plan is in order, it seems.”

Stian couldn’t help but smile. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement.” Glancing back towards the cavern, when a scream wrenched through the air,  he glanced back at the mortal, who stared back at him. “Now, are the others ready for me to absorb them?”

Josias stepped aside, motioning to the mouth of the cavern. “Yes, Lord. After you.”

* * *

“Nesta?  _ Talk to me.  _ Babe? Can you hear me?  _ Fuck, babe,  _ **_please._ ** ”

Cradling her close, feeling the gut-wrenching sobs wracking her body as her arms tightened around him so roughly he could feel the pin-prick sensation of her nails against his neck, Cassian bit down on the fury that threatened to detonate beneath his skin. Someone had to tried to  _ rape her - in  _ **_his own fucking house._ ** Staring blindly around the room, noting she was alone the moment he tore through the door, nearly vomiting at the sheer wave of terror that flooded her side of the bond, he felt his fury rise as he knelt down on the floor and scooped her up into his arms like a child, cocooning her in his wingspan. Just where the hell  _ was _ everyone? Where was Enar? Astra? Hell, he’d even take fucking  _ Devlon  _ right now, with the way she was sobbing in his arms.

His wings trembled as he settled down roughly on the floor, listening to the noises she made as she held him tightly. She didn’t pull away once since he’d scooped her up into his grip, even going as far as screaming frantically for him when he pulled away long enough to survey the room.

Finally, after several minutes that felt like an eternity, he heard her quiet, felt her body relax, sagging against his own. “Nesta?” He was afraid to say anything louder than a whisper, rising with her in his arms, rustling his wings to open them and take off, when she tightened her grip on him and rapidly shook her head.

“ _ N-no.  _ We’re not leaving. Just--take me to your room, please. Just ward the door. Enar and Astra will be back, and--” Suddenly, she stiffened, and he could feel the searing fear and shock that flared from her side of the bond. “ _ Oh God. Astra,”  _ She weakly whispered, then began to sob once more. He stood there, utterly confused, until he began to pace, glancing towards the door, a chill running through him. Had her friend been attacked, too? Was that why Enar was missing?

“Was she attacked? Nesta, babe, what the fuck happened? I swear on my mother’s grave, I will hunt this fucker down and  _ end him. _ I’ll tear him to fucking  _ pieces  _ for what he did to you, I swear it, I’ll--” He growled, his inner beast rising, hackles poised, ready to rip the male to shreds that had hurt her. Thinking to how she’d taken such a brutal beating by Devlon with pride, compared to how broken she looked now, fragile and withdrawn in his arms, made him homicidal with rage. 

“No more killing,” she hiccuped, shaking her head rapidly, eyes raising to meet his. “This isn’t the f-first time, not even the s-second time. No more killing.  _ Please. _ ”

_ That  _ sent him crashing to his knees, staring at the seriousness in her sad blue eyes, and he wanted to scream. He knew she could feel his shock, watching as she winced and cupped his cheek. He jerked his head back, staring intently at her. He wasn’t angry, but he needed to know.  _ “Tell me.” _

“You know the first,” she whispered. “That day at the house, when you delivered the message. That one was the boy I knew, but -- he’s dead now, Cassian. He died in the war, it seems. I know, I looked.”

He grit his teeth, forcing her to meet his stare, when her head began to lower, her eyes pulling away from him. “And the other?”

This time, he could sense her hesitation, her fear at his reaction, and he coaxed her chin up, cupping her cheek. “ _ Please,  _ Nesta. No shutting me out. You promised me when I claimed you as mine. Tell me everything, babe. I need to know.”

He wouldn’t think on it until later, how brave she was being right then, presenting her shattered and abused heart to him, allowing him to inspect every crack and imperfection. Right then, he just loved her, even as tears coursed down her face and she whispered the next sentence painfully, watching his face transform into silent fury at what he heard.

“It happened in Velaris. He was--was my second pick for--you know. I said no, when he got rough, and he--he….” She trailed off, a rough shudder wracking her body, and he couldn’t contain the savage snarl that ripped from his throat even if he tried.

“I’m going to find that fucking prick and kill him with my bare fucking hands,” he bit out, watching her as she suddenly jolted in his grip, an uncomfortable laugh bubbling from her lips, one that made him suddenly uneasy with the hysteria edged there.

“Might be difficult, given I already did that,” she whispered, meeting his eyes. 

Suddenly, everything made sense. He stared, allowing the surprise to transform his face into soft understanding, and when he reached for her, she beat him to it, crushing his sides in her grip.

“You think I would have judged you?” He hoarsely whispered into her hair, near her ear, tilting his head to nip at her earlobe, pleased to feel the shiver that made her tremble against him.

“I--don’t know. I was so scared, it just happened, it was like--when it happened, I wasn’t just there with him, I was there with Thomas, and all the horrible things were all happening at once, I was also back in that pit, that thing that made me t-this, and I--I just wanted it to  _ stop. _ ” She let out a muffled harsh sob against his throat. “And it did stop, Cassian. Everything stopped. And it was  _ awful.” _

_ Fucking hell,  _ he thought, picking her up and heading down the hall, into his room. He warded as he went, using every ounce of power available to him, so that  _ no one _ outside of Azriel or Rhysand himself would get in the cabin, sinking with her into the bed, afraid to let go of her.

Kissing her cheek, running a trembling hand through her hair, he tilted her head back to meet his gaze, focusing all the love he felt for her into his eyes. Watching her inspect him, that mask she usually wore still gone as if it never was, her eyes glittering with tears again as she reached up and cupped his cheek, was its own special reward. 

“I fucking love you,” he hoarsely muttered, unable to help it, tilting his head down, kissing her. “I love you so fucking much. Just--let me hold you.”

“Kiss me again,” she whispered, so he did. When she began to wriggle against him, he pulled back, shaking his head, but she suddenly grabbed his chin firmly, her eyes sharp - focused. “I  _ need  _ this, Cassian. Take away the bad memories for me, make them good ones.  _ Please.” _

He couldn’t stop if he wanted to, but he took his time in undressing them both, not allowing her to do anything, caressing and loving her with his mouth until she gasped against him when he leaned into position and finally slid inside her. “You’re okay?” He whispered, watching her nod, and began to move.

He simply existed in that moment to watch her arch under him, moan and chant his name, until suddenly her face and skin flushed, her nipples tightened against his chest, and she keened softly and that beautiful rhythmic pulsing of her channel pulled his own orgasm from him, forcing him to fill her with his essence.

“Thank you,” she whispered afterwards, falling immediately asleep. He pulled back gently, tucking the covers around her, and would have joined her, but his senses were triggered, feeling the door rattle at the front entrance to his cabin.

Biting back a snarl, he tore across the cabin, letting her sleep, as he aimed at the intrusion with fury riding his heels.

* * *

“Morrigan, welcome.”

Morrigan stared, still baffled at the change in Tamlin every time she ran across him since he bonded with Shula, at an utter loss at the transformation, remembering how he had acted during that initial meeting, all gristle and bone as he stared with hatred in his eyes at her court and her High Lady.

“High Lord Spring, thank you for receiving me on such short notice. How is Shula?”

Tamlin’s eyes were no longer on her, having moved to the male at her side, a warm smile tugging at his features as Lucien no doubt returned it, not that she had looked to confirm it. Slowly, his eyes moved back to hers, the jade green orbs losing a touch of their warmth but continuing to surprise her with the intellect and respect they held, as he remarked on her words. “Well enough, considering she nears the last stage of her pregnancy. She’ll be joining us shortly. I appreciate  you writing me about the nature of your request before you requested an audience with her.”

Speaking so frankly with Tamlin continued to make her uncomfortable, still able to remember the day she had rescued Feyre from his controlling grasp, but all her discomfort dissolved when they all turned at hearing a door open, only to be greeted by the charming petite red-head that Tamlin had taken to mate.

Shula was, without a doubt, the most honest soul Morrigan had ever met. It sometimes impacted her co-ruling with Tamlin - another surprise that always had Morrigan hesitating, but being able to sense the  _ truth  _ of their love for one another, she dismissed her worries - so when the woman came forward and embraced both Lucien and her in a hug, her rounded belly knocking against their stomachs, she couldn’t help but smile.

“Lady Shula,” Morrigan greeted, stepping back, watching Lucien nearly pick her up as he hugged her with aplomb, then leaned back and rubbed her very pregnant midsection.

“How’s my nephew?” Lucien joked, glancing briefly at Tamlin before glancing back at Shula. She grinned, placing Lucien’s hand in a specific spot, and Morrigan watched as astonishment transformed his face when the babe must have moved.

“Active. Just ask Tamlin, his favorite nighttime activity is kicking his father awake just as he’s about to fall asleep,” she teased. “Can’t imagine where he gets the pranking from,” giving him a questioning look, just as Tamlin came to stand beside her, resting a hand against her hip.

Lucien had the decency to look contrite, making Tamlin and Shula both laugh. Morrigan cleared her throat, stepping forward, hating to break up the reverie, but needing to get to the reason that Rhysand had sent her here. “Lord and Lady Spring, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to Night, and I need to ask a favor of both of you before I go. This isn’t a social call.”

“No, of course, forgive me,” Shula murmured, waving off Morrigan’s brief flash of hesitation. “You needed the symbols those bastards drew on my skin, yes?”

Morrigan nodded, watching as Shula looked to Tamlin. Tamlin’s eyes briefly pulsed golden before he looked Morrigan’s way, reaching into a pocket of his trousers and handing her a tightly folded piece of parchment. “You’ll have to forgive Shula, I drew most of these. They made her terribly ill, you see, but I….”

He trailed off, his tone becoming a mere growl, and Morrigan watched as he tucked his hands in his pockets, but not before she saw them lined with claws instead of finger nails. “I saw them more than she did, when I found her in that room with those men.”

The tension in the room was palatable. Morrigan had heard the stories, had felt the truth, but watching Tamlin cradle Shula against his side as she visibly paled made her furious on behalf of them both. To feel such things for the male that had nearly destroyed her High Lady’s self-esteem, when staring at the kind-hearted soul he’d been fated to bond with, spoke volumes for what Rhysad could need these drawings for.

“Why do you need them? Are they in Night? If Rhysand suspects such, why hasn’t he discussed this at the High Lord Council?” Tamlin asked, his tone sharp, drawing her back to the conversation. Morrigan’s eyes met Lucien’s, and he too looked as wary and curious as Tamlin. 

“I wish I knew the answer,” she replied truthfully, watching Tamlin bristle and Lucien frown. Morrigan stared, watching them exchange looks, and sighed. “I’m being honest,” she replied back, watching them both look her way. “You know as much as I do. You also know how Rhysand is. He plays everything close to the vest. Didn’t Under the Mountain teach you that? And Feyre?”

She watched, pleased to see the mention of her High Lady no longer had any ill-received effects on either of the males in front of her. Shula seemed to come back to life then, casting off whatever darkness was chasing her when they discussed the Alchemists that had nearly taken her and her unborn bade away from Tamlin and her life here. “If it helps ease your caution, Lucien is welcome to join me and report back to you whatever it is that Rhysand is hiding. Obviously, don’t allow it to leave this room, and the easiest assumption to make is - yes, they’re in Night. I can’t fathom why else he would need to know those markings, unless he’s discovered them somewhere. Whatever Lucien shares  _ must  _ stay secret. This is Rhysand’s court, his people, only  _ he _ gets to choose when the knowledge is aired at the next High Lord Council meeting.”

By the looks on their faces, her offer stunned them. In fact, it stunned her as well, the more she mulled it over, but her gift told her there was no fault in it - what she spoke was truth, through and through, and would only benefit everyone involved. Staring at Tamlin, next to Shula, next to the mended friendship he had with Lucien now - somehow even stronger than it had been before Feyre had shattered it - she felt no reason not to trust them and try and also mend the relationship between him and Rhysand. So far, they’d held every promise they had made in the High Lord Council sessions, even assisting Lucien, Vassa and Jurien underneath what was once the wall. When other courts might have crumbled under the onslaught of refugees fleeing to their lands after the war and the fallout with the Mortal Queens, Tamlin and Shula had prospered, remembering their estate - and the other impressive new structures  - that fortified the new Spring Court for everyone to see.

Tamlin nodded just as Shula murmured her agreement, his eyes canting to glance towards Lucien. Lucien shrugged, nodding, but Morrigan didn’t fail to notice the flash in his amber eyes at the thought of going back to Night, where his own mate stayed, away from him. 

“Good, then it’s settled. We’ll leave at first light,” Morrigan replied, glancing to Shula with a smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you in court and never have had a chance to get to know you privately.” Her eyes drifted towards Tamlin. “You wouldn’t mind if I borrowed your mate for an hour or so before dinner, would you?”

“Go ahead,” Tamlin replied, dipping his head down to kiss her cheek and murmur something in her ear, his large hands coming out of his pants pockets to stroke lovingly against her curved belly. Shula flushed and Morrigan diverted her eyes while Lucien merely grinned, then tugged Tamlin down the hall, away from the two of them.

“Lady Shula, if you don’t mind me asking, I’ve heard you’re friends with Queen Vassa,” Morrigan suddenly blurted, once they were alone. 

Shula merely smiled, her eyes going soft, as she gestured for Morrigan to join her, finding a seat by the mantle fire, where several plush chairs were scattered. “I am. What about her?”

Morrigan swallowed, suddenly uneasy with the faint knowing gleam in Shula’s eyes.  _ Fuck,  _ her mind thought, as Shula plucked at her skirts, giving her a faint grin.  _ She knows.  _ Suddenly, she stiffened, not daring to breathe.  _ Wait, does this mean Vassa has talked to her as well - about  _ **_me_ ** _? _

“I…” She tried to start, only for the words to die in her throat. Suddenly, Shula sat forward, clasping Morrigan’s fingers in her warm grip.

“I know,” Shula said, smiling faintly. “I went through the same with Tamlin. Tell me everything. You should know by now I’m worth my words when I say I won’t tell a soul what you share with me. Talk to me, Morrigan.”

Morrigan sagged against the chair, and did exactly that. 


	22. Chapter 22

“General, _please!_ I swear, I didn’t mean to leave her unprotected, if you’ll only--” Enar struggled to say, his words cut off mid plea as Cassian snarled, gripping his throat tighter and flaring his wings, clapping them once - _hard -_ and sending him flying across the room with the male in his grip. When Enar's head hit the back of the wall, Cassian briefly felt a flicker of satisfaction ripple through him as he witnessed the shock of the impact knock the male’s breath from his lungs, making him struggle against his hold. Unfortunately for him, Cassian was stronger, angrier, and ready to kill him for what he’d almost allowed Cassian to lose.

When Enar reached for his belt, for any kind of weapon to get Cassian off him, he snarled and slammed his head again, hard enough this time that the shelves near the weapons rack rattled against their bindings. He whipped his head around after he disarmed Enar, noting two Illyrians barreling through the front door - a female of small insignificant stature, and a mere boy who appeared frightened and shocked all at once, staring at him with eyes as wide as saucers, clutching an odd assortment of leather-bound parchments and a journal of sorts.

Ignoring them when he began to feel Enar struggling again, hoarsely calling his name, he turned, swiveling and snarling again in the male’s face, tightening his grip. “You _failed_ at the _singular assignment_ I gave you, soldier,” He growled, bringing his face in close, watching the other man blanch from where he had stopped struggling against his more powerful hold. “She was _attacked_ , **_again_** _,_ nearly _raped,_ in hysterics when I found her; if I hadn’t felt her fear, rushed here, she could have been…” He wouldn’t finish the sentence, his power desperate to lash out, causing the room to rumble faintly in warning, even as Enar’s face rippled with shock, awareness, surprise, then realization, paling in front of him. Seeing the man’s understanding about her past, the significance of what could have occurred had Cassian not saved her, sent his rage to new heights. Without his siphons, his power was becoming dangerous, but he couldn’t control it against the crushing images forming in his mind: Nesta, dead, on the floor of his gathering room, floating in a sea of her own blood, or worse; Nesta alive but broken in spirit, killing herself and him in the process as she withdrew to a place he could never reach her, but just enough flicker left in her to haunt him forever, teasing him of what they had for a hair's breadth of time and yet still managed to lose within minutes of one fateful act.

“This is the _second time_ you’ve failed me,” He roared again, the images playing out inside his head making his fury rise, even if he knew he was appearing like a crazed man. He didn’t care. She was the most important thing to him in his life and this fool had allowed her to be harmed, _twice._ “I will--”

“It’s my fault! _Blame me!_ I’m the reason he abandoned his post! Please, _punish me!_ ” The female that had burst inside the cabin at the first sounds of their fight suddenly interrupted, stepping forward and shoving the boy at her side behind her, raising her hands in a pleading gesture. Her eyes briefly moved to Enar’s, tears streaming down her face, but she looked back at Cassian with such remorse, he slowly loosened his grip. Not enough to allow the man room to escape, but enough to allow him to breathe while he studied the female. Briefly, his eyes flickered back to Enar, who stared at the female with a mixture of concern and resentment, and he suddenly realized whatever had drawn Enar away from the cabin was important enough to risk his wrath but also caused the man no small amount of guilt at the action.

Seeing Enar’s expression, he released him, turning to stare at the female who’d called out to him, hearing Enar’s rough topple to the floor as he coughed and forcefully sucked a series of choked inhalations of air into his oxygen-starved lungs. The female, while clearly docile, impressed him as she stood her ground, turning to meet his gaze. Still, his wings flared, warning her to watch her tone. Whatever her reason for drawing Enar away, it had nearly cost his mate something dear. “Your reasons better be good, female, considering what it cost me,” he growled, watching her face pale as her eyes flickered to the hallway, where Nesta rested.

“Is she alright?” The woman whispered, her voice faint, even as her face briefly crumpled. “I didn’t mean to leave her alone, to allow what happened to occur, I just…” She swallowed, standing straighter as Cassian came closer, noting the way she kept looking to Enar for help. Something was amiss, in the jerky movements of her eyes, and he growled again, drawing her attention his way.

“ _Speak_ ,” he harshly commanded, stepping forward, not caring he looked like vengeance reborn with his hair loose and wild, wings flared and chest bare, only clothed in his leather brais and boots. The female swallowed, standing straighter and shoving the boy at her side behind him, just as he heard the door open, noting Astra enter out of the corner of his eye, her eyes wide as she took in the sight of everyone and the state of the room, immediately falling quiet. He noted the astonished look on her face, the utter confusion, and willed her to silence with a glance. Still, the woman with the child said nothing, her throat bobbing, telling him she was afraid. Once more, her eyes flickered to Enar, and he turned, snarling and reaching for him just to get her to _talk,_ explain what the hell happened here tonight, even if he didn’t intend to hurt him further, finally able to hear the woman’s screams and pleading for him to stop as he wrenched Enar to a stand, meeting the soldier's sorrowful eyes. As he gripped him, planning to shove him by the woman, though from her wails she didn’t know that, beginning to note even Astra’s own pleas to him in the mixture of the chaos, a singular voice, soft-spoken, made him freeze mid-act.

“ _Stop,_ Cassian. Please let Enar go.”

Everyone turned, staring at Nesta, who stood at the edge of the gathering room, a loose white robe tied tightly around her frame. Her hair was loose, wild about her shoulders, and she was achingly beautiful to him in her unspoken pain. Still, despite all she’d endured - tonight, over her  entire life - she stood tall, regal, as her eyes met the others before clashing with his own. _Fuck,_ how he loved her, his heart throbbing inside his chest just as he stared. Her eyes still look haunted, but he noted the arctic mask she always wore firmly in place, as she tilted her head to the side, meeting his gaze unflinchingly with her own, and he immediately withdrew his grip from Enar, feeling the male sway briefly from the loss of contact as he no doubt took in Nesta’s fragile strength from where she stood across the room. The male knew her, as did Astra, and they _had_ to see the brittleness about her - how she struggled to remain composed and strong. He admired the hell out of her, standing there, as calm as she was, given what had nearly happened in this room only an hour or so before. She looked to Enar, who stared at her with a tortured expression, clearly knowing he’d failed her by her appearance.

Not caring who saw, Cassian moved to her, suddenly crashing to the ground and kneeling at her feet. Pressing his head against her thigh, he reached up and held her hips in his calloused hands, able to hear the stillness in the air. Everyone knew what she meant to him in that moment, but he didn’t give a damn. _Let them know,_ he thought, closing his eyes and inhaling her scent - now _their scent -_ at what they had almost cost him. Gently, he felt Nesta touch his shoulder, gently coaxing him to stand, and he eventually rose, meeting her eyes.

She said nothing, did nothing, but he felt her side of the bond flare to life, filled with love and understanding as her eyes took his in. _I’m okay, Cassian,_ she whispered to him inside his head, startling him, as he stared into her eyes, watching the blue-grey strengthen and warm there. _You stopped it this time. You saved me. I’m okay, thanks to you._

“I don’t think it would’ve mattered if Enar had been here,” Nesta murmured, glancing towards her bodyguard, who shifted nervously on his feet, his brow puckering in concern and confusion,  but he wisely remained quiet, as if he could sense Cassian’s barely caged snarl. _Even so,_ his mind roared in fury, _he still should have fucking been here._ Enar lowered his eyes, refusing to meet his or Nesta’s gaze, and once more he felt a flicker of satisfaction at the guilt that no doubt plagued him in that moment.  _Good,_ his thoughts snarled viciously, even has he suddenly heard Nesta continue.

“He had magic, even if it was -- _odd_.” She frowned, her words trailing off at that last bit, making him still at the strange choice of words.

Cassian shook his head with a frown, confused. “What do you mean _odd?_ ” He pressed gently, tracing her hips with his fingers, drawing her gaze his way. He hated to see her hash this out in front of a crowd of gathered spectators, preferring to have asked her all this later, after she had awoken from her sleep and had time to come to grips with what had happened to her, but Enar’s entrance had ruined that. He was still livid at the male, having not forgiven him for leaving her unawares in their cabin, and knew that they’d be leaving - _tonight._ He would not stay here, not after what had nearly happened. Still, he admired her strength, in the way she seemed to visibly search her memory, tilting her head to the side.

“I don’t know, it was…” She frowned, trailing off, her gaze once more going distant as a shudder rippled through her form. It was faint, undetectable to the others, but he felt it from where his fingers rested against her hips. “ _Vile,”_ she finally whispered, making his hackles rise, even as his pulse roared in his ears, remembering the sensation from that makeshift crypt he’d found in the mountain caverns earlier.

 _No,_ his mind suddenly sparked, the cabin shifting, everyone picking up on his mood swing as he sucked in a sharp breath. _Not that, not_ **_them_ ** _, not --_

“I’m so sorry I left!” Astra broke through the tension in the room, running across the cabin and crashing into Nesta, disrupting his surge of powerful thoughts, the cabin once more settling. Nesta swayed against the impact, nearly toppling into Cassian, so he held firm on her hips, noting her form going rigid, his eyes sharply watching her, wondering what had caused her to turn to stone. Astra pulled back, tears streaking her face, as she hugged Nesta once more before rambling a string of rubbery words. “After everything y-you’ve been through, I can’t believe…” She shook her head, wiping at her cheeks, confusion and fear in her eyes. “I can’t believe this - Stian didn’t help you? Did he leave? Was it after he left that someone came in?”

Nesta was like ice, even her eyes turning cold, as Cassian stared. Suddenly, realization dawned, and he snarled, loud enough to have Astra blinking, staring at both Nesta and Cassian in sudden confusion, backing up a step. Nesta wasn’t saying anything because she _knew_ who attacked her. Immediately, his mind replayed back her earlier statement about her friend, and the look of blanched shock in her face. He barely was able to hold back his wrath, even as he felt Nesta begin to tremble. “I don’t--why’re you looking at me like-- _what’s going on? What is it?_ ”

Nesta still hadn’t said anything, but he felt her tremors become more violent, as she no doubt was recounting those awful few minutes in her attacker’s grip. This time, the others saw it, too, their eyes going wide as they all stared, a mixture of horror and sadness in their faces. He reached for her in the bond, feeling her side dark, desolate, and full of fear. Thrusting his love at her, he felt the brackish taste of her terror, but bore the brunt of that pain. Nesta shuddered, her expression frozen, eyes vacant until Cassian turned her, tilting her chin up, but he felt her slowly respond to his heated touch against her side of the bond, her emotions thawing, bleeding openly against his own, allowing his love to soothe hers.

“Who was it, Nesta? Who did this to you?”

Nesta said nothing, but her eyes finally focused on his face, as her side of the bond tempered to a more even calm. Eventually, she seemed to thaw, fire slowly reanimating those fierce eyes he loved. “It was...Stian. Astra’s brother.”

Astra gasped and Enar muttered something to the female and the boy at his side, pushing them behind him. Cassian briefly wondered why they were there, but all his attention was on the female Nesta had befriended, his eyes going sharp, hot, and focused. Astra, for her part, appeared completely in shock, face pale and eyes wide, tearing her gaze between Cassian and Nesta alike, her mouth opening and closing, fishing for a denial, but unable to clearly voice one. He could tell, in her way, that she wanted to refuse Nesta’s claim, but also knew Nesta wouldn’t lie to her - the one singular friend she’d ever gained. He could feel her guilt at causing her friend harm in the bond, stroking her hips, soothing her softly with his hands, as he stepped around her, focused on the woman who was related to the male who had harmed his mate, his body tense.

Again, he remembered Nesta’s mention of Stian’s power, how it had felt similar to the same word he’d used to describe that cavern, full of the bodies of Illyrian soldiers, and felt rage rekindling underneath his skin. Astra painted the perfect picture of innocence - but was she? Was her brother aligned with these traitors and deserters he had been searching for? Had he been the one taking all those other male’s powers, like Azriel theorized? _Why_ was he doing it? What did he stand to gain from it?

 _She’s a drifter,_ his mind began to calculate the circumstances, as he approached her, watching her wariness morph into true fear. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, and he watched her wings quiver. He smirked, amused she thought that she could outrun him. _She has a brother, with ‘vile’ unnatural powers, and befriended your mate, a woman who struggles with any sort of attachment, worming her way into her defenses, her soft heart she hides under that shield of hers,_ his mind continued, tallying up the possible odds that the female in front of him had played him for a fool, nearly harming his mate in the process. _Her brother tried to_ **_rape_ ** _my mate, was here because he made her a--_

“What does your brother do for a living, Astra?” He suddenly asked, his tone sharp as steel.

Astra flinched, a look of disbelief still etched into her face, her eyes had begun to harden, her breathing picking up, telling him she had been moments from fleeing. Startled by his question, her wings suddenly sagged against her back, her frown showing her confusion as her eyes drifted back to Nesta, pain shattering their resolve, and she swayed, seemingly losing all the fight he’d just seen in her moments before. “He’s a blacksmith, General. I joined him here, after I was cast out of my village, when I left and broke my engagement vows to a fellow clansmen in another village near ours, he was delivering her a sword, and I--”

“ _What village?_ ” He snarled, wondering if it was one of the Northern ones. _It couldn’t be this easy,_ his thoughts churned, as he stared, his fury mounting. _Don’t tell me this has been sitting under my nose this entire time…._

Astra seemed to sense something was amiss, in the way he worded his questions, terse and poised, full of hidden meeting, her expression growing remote, even as her wings tucked close to her back and she stood firmer in front of him. “Lofoten, near the northern edge of Illyria, by the mountain Ramiel with the three stars.”

He hadn’t expected that answer, suddenly stilling. Flickers of unimaginable pain roared to life from his past, in that gaping black wound at the center of his chest that never healed, and he watched Astra’s face suddenly shift from wariness to open confusion. She was from _there - Why there? Why_ **_that_ ** _place? -_ and he swallowed, briefly losing his train of thought, even as her words confirmed his suspicions. He tried to ask where her brother was now, where they were staying, but suddenly he couldn’t, his memories roaring to life, taking him back places he’d long left buried. _Not there, please - not there…_

Something rattled loose deep in his chest, wreaking havoc, and he suddenly felt Nesta’s arms around his middle, her mind probing his. _Cassian? What is it? Are you alright?_ Her voice soothed his raw response to Astra’s words, just as he had with her own when she rehashed her attack, and he shuddered, nodding at Nesta before meeting Astra’s gaze again.

Now wasn’t the time for such things, so he steeled himself further, tugging his mate close and enveloping Nesta in a tight-gripped hug, but he watched Astra as he barked an order at Enar, who was still standing off to the side with the two others who had accompanied him to the cabin. “Make yourself useful, soldier, and make sure Astra can’t move. Bind her.”

“ _What?_ ” Astra gasped, her face paling, confusion and now anger blooming in her expression, as she looked between Cassian and Nesta. Nesta frowned, pulling back, but the look on Cassian’s face must have settled something in her, as she suddenly fell silent, saying nothing. “But -- even if my brother _did_ do something, _I didn’t!_ You can’t _possibly think I--”_

“I don’t know what to think,” Cassian muttered, as Enar came up, giving Astra a brief apologetic look before requesting her wrists and wings. Astra stared, at both him and Nesta, but finally thrust her hands forward and tucked her wings close, her hazel eyes growing flinty, as Enar began to bind them both - shackles for her wrists, soft spongy cloth for her wings. “But I want to make sure you stay put while I get my answers.”

Cassian turned his gaze to Enar once the job was done, pointing to the two new faces. “Who are they and why are they here? Why did you abandon your post for them? The answer better satisfy my rage, soldier, or it won’t end well for you.”

 

* * *

 

“About time you got here,” Amren murmured from across the room in her loft apartment, just as Azriel appeared by the door. He gave her a brief stare, watching her eyes narrow briefly before looking towards the bed, and Azriel let his gaze follow. There, on the bed, slept Amren’s lover Varian, cousin of Tarquin, High Lord of Summer and captain of the Summer regent’s guard.

“You could have asked me to come later,” Azriel reminded her, not letting his gaze linger, surprised the male was asleep until he noted the copious amounts of empty wine casks at his side, but watched Amren snort in a decidedly unladylike fashion. She may have no longer been _other_ , lurking underneath a High Fae’s skin, but she still carried that odd personality, of which she was using to full display now.

“I want this over with, so I can go back to--” Amren started turning to look at Varian with a knowing gleam in her eyes that made his insides roil, forcing Azriel to raise a hand silently, stopping her. He didn’t think he ever, _ever_ wanted to learn of Amren’s bed activities - not since that time, decades ago, when she said she’d decided to try fucking to see what the hype was about, only to be disappointed in the end, choosing to eat her lover in replacement of a blood meal. _‘That,’_ she’d said, _‘was much more appealing and satisfying than thrusting into each other’s bodies and creating such a mess. What a waste and nuisance.’_ Still hearing those words in his mind threatened to give him nightmares.

Amren immediately fell quiet, looking annoyed, but Azriel really, _really_ didn’t need the details of her and Varian’s sex life, though clearly either her mindset of the act or Varian’s aptness in the bedroom had dissolved her disillusion with it, given how often they were in each other’s company these days. Amren and Varian had spoken of love, and idly he wondered if this odd pairing would open a door of an alliance between Night and Summer. Rhysand could use the support, given what had occurred to their fledgling friendship before they had to force the young High Lord’s hand and take - rather than be gifted - a portion of that book Amren had decoded for them.

“You have what I need to look at? Your letter said urgent, so here I am,” Amren reminded him, snapping her fingers impatiently as he crossed the room, reaching for his belt. Pulling out a folded parchment from one of the compartments, he handed it to her.

“The others from Shula and Tamlin will be in tomorrow. Mor is bringing them,” Azriel supplied, feeling the shadows lick at his senses. He paused, surprised at the name that whispered there. “With Lucien, it seems.”

“So the chit has come back to see his mate?” Amren asked, her tone hidden somewhere between amused and bored, unfolding the parchment and setting it on her lap as she settled on the floor, glancing down at the symbols he’d drawn with an intensity that would have unnerved him, if he wasn’t so used to her mannerisms. She may have no longer required blood to survive, but she still liked the taste, and to see her still act like the supposed monster she once was still left Azriel on edge. He trusted her with his life, but to stretch that trust to carelessness around her was dangerous, no matter what she was now.

“No, Mor offered Spring an emissary, so we can continue to keep them as an ally at the High Lord Summit,” Azriel supplied, feeling the shadows once more whisper at him. Amren paused in her review of the symbols, looking up and raising an eyebrow in curiosity. Azriel shrugged, feeling a little anger lick at her tone as he let his gaze turn arctic. Just because he’d aided Tamlin _once,_ the others continued to look at him oddly month after, as if one act of kindness had somehow realigned his loyalty. Amren merely rolled her eyes, asking if he’d run it by Rhysand. “Not yet, but he’ll approve. We can’t afford to have Spring weak or defenseless, and now that Shula has co-joined Tamlin to rule as High Lady, afford to lose their strengthening numbers. They’ve done well, from what I hear.”

Indeed, his informants  - and the shadows themselves - continued to surprise him with how well Spring had changed over the past few months. Now, it seemed, Velaris might soon have a contender for the most prosperous title, if it weren’t for the devastation from the war Spring was still recovering from. Having taken the lands down south of the wall, those that still lay well within the island perimeters of Prythian, Spring was becoming strong in a way that Azriel had hoped would happen before the Mortal Queens retaliated. Sadly, it seemed, their plans to use Spring as a barrier between Prythian and the Mortal Lands had been for nothing, if the Alchemists had infiltrated Night territory.

Amren once more fell silent, studying the symbols, but he could still feel her aura of disdain regarding Tamlin. The others continued to give him wide berth after he’d volunteered to help Tamlin, of all people, rescue his mate, but - he _had_ to know how they’d thwarted him prior to the war. He was the _best_ at what he did and he hadn’t found a way to bypass their defenses, something that had driven him to near madness as he’d worked past the narrow sea in their lands, trying to learn their secrets and get the other half of the book Rhysand needed at the time to hopefully defeat the cauldron. It had been a failure, yes, but not for the reasons Rhysand had thought. The shadows that had always been a part of his life were utterly silent down there, beyond the wall and the narrow sea, almost a thick pitch black in their density, and he hadn’t been able to sense _anything._

Now, he knew _why_. Someone in the Alchemy group could do what he did, speak to the shadows, and had somehow willed them into complete, absolute silence. Even _he_ couldn’t do that and he needed - no, _craved_ \- to know how they did it. It wasn’t a matter of pride, but caution. For some reason, the shadows seemed to be somehow...in pain, if that was even a term used to describe the sliver of the dark world he had access to. It was a tangible, living, breathing, thinking and feeling thing and they were hurting it, subjugating it. He owed it, this entity that had helped him survive his monstrous childhood, to claim back its independence, even if it forced him to learn more about the dangerous arts the Alchemists dabbled in.  

As if in response to his thoughts, he felt that darkness curl around him, feathering whisper-soft kisses along his collar. _Yes, you know,_ it seemed to say, touching him like a lover, but more like a long-lost friend, always at his side. _We need you. Help us._

“You sure this is what they looked like?” Amren asked, breaking into his reverie, allowing him to will the shadows away as he looked down at her, watching her stare at him with a frown, eyes intense as always, flicking briefly to his collar, as if she’d known he was talking with them, touching them mentally.

“I’m certain,” Azriel said, shifting on his feet. “Mor will deliver the others as well. I wasn’t looking long enough to get a firm eye on their shapes. Tamlin and Shula would know more.” He noted Amren’s darkening expression as she leaned back down, staring at the symbols. “Why? What do you see?”

“They’re not symbols, or a language I know, per say,” Amren commented, tracing a few with her fingers. “They’re a combination of several. They’ve essentially _invented_ a whole new language, one I’m afraid won’t interpret well, but -- I can try. I can write out what languages they borrow from, what those meanings are, what I think this new one means, but...this is uncharted territory, Azriel.”

“Are any of the symbols from Prythian?” Azriel bristled, instantly alert at the very thought that somewhere along the line, a denizen of Prythian had committed treason among their own kind, teaching a mortal words and phrases in a language they shouldn’t have access to.

“Some,” Amren nodded, motioning to a few parts. “But they could have obtained them anywhere, at any time. Mortals might not live long, but their stories live as long, if not longer, than we do. You wouldn’t be able to trace the origin, I’m afraid,” she commented, glancing up, as if catching his line of thinking. Azriel frowned, but Amren shooed him towards the door, just as Varian began to stir.

“Bring me the symbols from Mor tomorrow,” Amren said, shoving him through the front door. “Don’t come before noon.”

Azriel stared, watching Amren slam the door in his face, but then suddenly -- _they_ talked again, this time making him go rigid. Sharply looking to the sky, he took flight and aimed himself with the fastest pace possible, towards the cabin Nesta shared with Cassian.

 _Hurry,_ they seemed to say, and he cursed under his breath, pushing himself into shadows mid-air, using their assistance to winnow to his destination.

 

* * *

 

“My husband…..” began the woman, the boy at her side trembling under his intense stare, so much so that Cassian eased the expression on his face, feeling the shadows burst to life at his side, Azriel’s bristling snarl as he spotted Astra bound in Enar’s grip, launching towards her and pulling her to his side. Immediately, the woman’s tentative explanation quelled, and everyone’s attention was drawn to the Spymaster as he shoved away the soldier and looked over her bonds - the shackles at her hands, laced with enough faebane her winnowing was impacted, the soft bands at her wings, undamaging but binding them in a way she couldn’t use them to take flight - before casting Cassian a dark glare.

Cassian blinked, not apologizing, but watching Azriel lay a possessive hand on her shoulder. Astra’s cheeks briefly heated but she cast her eyes towards the wall, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. Azriel’s claim was as clear as day to anyone who had half a brain, and Cassian steadily met Azriel’s furious but confused glare. He didn’t know _how_ he had known about Astra, but the expression on his face was clear: _She is_ **_mine_ ** _._ He briefly remembered that day, when they’d both first met her, at the way his friend had stared and studied her, and somehow knew in his bones she was important to him. Morosely, he thought that fate had it in for them, figuring it was not without a sense of irony that Azriel had taken a liking to the woman related to one of Nesta’s would-be abusers. Still, Azriel had stood by him when Rhysand had painfully sneered in his face about his own mating, and he wouldn’t repeat the action, no matter who Azriel took to bed.

He lifted an eyebrow, telling him without words that she was not free to go, but relinquished her to Azriel’s custody. Azriel’s eyes darkened as the shadows licked at his collar, his stoic expression growing harder the longer they did so, and finally he nodded, tugging Astra closer, his grip unhurried but unquestioning - she was under his lock and key for the foreseeable future.

Astra had gone completely cold, not unlike what Nesta often did when cornered. Nesta shifted at his side, making Cassian flicker his eyes down to her, but she simply stared, as if willing Astra to meet her gaze, when she didn’t. Finally, she turned her eyes back to Cassian, letting him take command of the room again.

“Continue,” he commanded, watching Enar take a few steps back, motioning for the boy at the female’s side to join him, away from the probing stare of him or Azriel, who’s dark intelligence had shifted to the woman before them. She wilted slightly under everyone’s combined stare, but finally seemed to gather her courage and stood taller, glancing briefly at Enar before clearing her throat and continuing.

“My name is Astrid, I am Torrin’s recently claimed wife, a friend of Enar’s. I lost my first husband, my boy’s father, in the war down south. His name was Gavin. He died at the hands of the Cauldron’s powers.” She replied, the last few words out of her mouth a pained whisper, her fingers trembling as she held up the documents in her grip. Tears glimmered in her eyes and Cassian immediately fell resolutely quiet, as did the others, watching the woman struggle for composure.

“Torrin was there...when he died. He described it, in here,” she offhandedly held up the journal, her expression bleak, as her eyes turned towards her son, who gasped and let out a painful sob, suddenly bolting out of Enar’s grip and running towards his mother. Cassian swallowed thickly at the image the two painted - a woman holding her child, her love and grief on full display as she pet his dark hair, clutching him to her side - feeling it tear something loose in him. He noted, out of the corner of his eye, Azriel’s lips thinned at the display, Astra having turned to stare, eyes both warry and saddened at what Astrid had started to tell them.

“Please, Enar, can you -- take Hammund outside, I don’t want him to hear this part,” Astrid started, her voice hoarse and pained, as she began to pull back, trying to untangle herself from her son, to shield him from what no doubt was about to come next, Cassian could sense it.

Staring at the shattered family image, he couldn’t help but sympathize with the Illyrians and their upset at their leadership. They still didn’t see it, how _no one_ could have been prepared for what Hybern brought, what the cauldron would do to them, but he felt their bitter anger then, watching Hammund pull back, angry tears in his eyes, as he shook his head. “No , mama! I’m not a baby! Tell them what I found! What I saw! I _know_ step-papa Torrin was mad at what happened to daddy, I could see it in his eyes for months!”

Enar stepped forward, grasping Hammund’s shoulders, only for the room to watch the boy struggle harder, snarl and fight as savagely as his little body could, tears of anger coursing down his face. “My daddy’s dead and step-papa Torrin was sad! He saw it! I _know_ he saw it! He promised daddy to watch after you and me, mama! _I know!”_

Astrid went still, as did Enar, his eyes widening as they snapped to the boy’s mother, his grip loosening enough for Hammund to wriggle loose, run up and grab the leather parchment that was beside the journal in his mother’s grip, then sprint to Cassian, stuttering to a stop in front of him. He stood tall, as tall as he could, even as he still lingered several feet below Cassian’s eye level, and thrust the document in his grip, ignoring the stream of angry tears leaking down his cheeks, catching in his eyelashes.

“I went to the woods, looking for my step-papa, that made my mama smile for the first time in months. I found….caves,” the boy hiccuped, making Cassian tense, then quickly fall to one knee and take the document, unrolling it. “I was very careful, General Sir, no one saw me. Well, _one_ did, but he was a nice man. He said his name was Zaruk and that he’d help look for my step-papa, who left, if I gave you this.”

Cassian’s eyes lowered, and he recognized the handwriting. He blinked, stilling, eyes briefly widening as he realized the man that the boy had run into was the same male with Jeric, Worolf’s son, who had passed him the message of the traveler - _the blacksmith -_ that was responsible for riling up the Illyrian youth to begin with. The document outlined numbers, cavern systems, and - what he feared most - the alchemist that the traveler had been working with.

Rolling it up quickly, he stood, taking Nesta’s hand, glancing at the woman who stared at him fearfully and hurried forward, dragging Hammund back with a tight grip on her son’s shoulder, thrusting the journal towards him she had held. “His thoughts, musings...plans,” she weakly spat, her lower lip trembling. “It’s all there. Whatever you want, take it, but my son is innocent.”

Cassian glanced to Azriel, who’s grip had tightened on Astra, who looked equally parts in shock and furious. He nodded grimly and Cassian turned back to the rest of the room. “Everyone, gather close. We’re leaving.”

“Where are we going?” Astra suddenly bit out, choosing for the first time since Enar had bound her and Azriel had taken hold of her, to speak out.

Cassian smirked, glancing to Azriel, while Enar looked ready to follow orders, now that he knew what had drawn the soldier away, glancing at him to take hold of the woman and her son. “Somewhere that traitorous brother of yours won’t find us,” he told her, watching Azriel’s eyes flicker with an unknown emotion, only for the shadows to pull them into subspace and send them winnowing across Illyria, towards the new village Feyre had constructed.

Enar stood close, following Cassian’s lead, and together they moved towards a new destination, Cassian’s mind whirling at the unexpected blessing Enar’s absence may have allowed them in this war, for that’s what it was now, the moment they’d tried to harm his mate. No matter what Astra meant to Azriel in the long run, the male who had harmed her was as good as dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit; the name of the mountain has been found! Thank you so much to silverstone2828 for your help!!! ❤️
> 
> Credit to Roza for the Varian catch!


	23. Chapter 23

Morrigan turned, staring into the fire, her pulse roaring in her ears, feeling the silence descend over the room now that her secret was out -- shared with someone other than herself or Feyre. It was  _ crazy _ , pure and simple insanity, that had her finally unburdening all this shame and guilt and repressed disgust at the one person who could wreck her life if she chose to tell it to anyone. Closing her eyes, she drew in a shaking breath, waiting for Shula to respond.

When she did, Morrigan stiffened in surprise. “So,” Shula murmured softly, shattering the stillness in the room, her soft warm hand folding over Morrigan’s once more, clasping gently. “What are you going to do about it? Do you plan on telling her? Telling the others?”

Morrigan drew her gaze back to the female at her side, who sat beside her in the two chairs that faced the fire, concern lightening her eyes. Morrigan once more felt tears scald her lashes, shaking her head, glancing back to the safety of the flames, not sure how to answer. How  _ did  _ one get themselves out of a mess of their own making? One buried so deep,  _ centuries  _ had passed since she had considered telling the truth to those closest to her? Thinking of how crushed Azriel would be, how disappointed Rhysand would be, how uncomfortable Cassian would be, how annoyed Amren would be, nearly ate her alive.

Once more, Shula brought her out of her reverie, squeezing her hand, drawing her gaze away from the fire. She didn’t bother to smooth out the anguish that was probably written on her face, but Shula didn’t flinch or grimace or frown, she simply stared back, raising an eyebrow. “Well? Continuing to do nothing is a well traveled path for you, Mor. It’s time to do something  _ different  _ this time, wouldn’t you say?”

She wanted to rip her hand out of the woman’s grip, snarl in her face that what could  _ she  _ possibly know about this, but the longer she stared, the more she remembered who the female was mated to, what magic she’d worked on another who had far more serious flaws than her own, bringing him out of the darkness and into the light, making her suddenly sigh and sag in her chair, nodding her head.

“You’re right,” she admitted softly, giving Shula a tentative smile, but her lips shook with the effort. “I just don’t even know where to start,” she whispered, trembling with the knowledge of how her world would change if she decided to pursue Vassa, or better yet, faced the Inner Circle - her friends, family - and see what it yielded her. The dread that filled her with the thought of that nearly stole her breath.

“How about you start with the truth,” Shula murmured, giving Morrigan a faint smile. “You did it with me and that couldn’t have been easy. I accepted you and I barely know you. Do you truly think those who love you most will reject you now?”

Morrigan didn’t reply.  _ Maybe. _

“Since I can see where your mind is taking you, let’s entertain the idea, if just for a moment. If they did,” Shula countered, tipping her head to the side as she studied her, pulling her hands away from Morrigan when she watched her stiffen, placing them on her belly as her eyes caught Morrigan’s, “What’s the  _ worst _ that could happen? They might be angry, sure, but would they truly make you an outcast like you dread they would? Over something you can’t even control? From what I’ve managed to learn, fate has not been kind to them for circumstances beyond even their abilities to manipulate. Yet, they do not reject each other because of them. Why would this be any different?”

Morrigan stared at Shula, feeling tears slip past her lashes. Sitting up with a soft watery laugh escaping her throat, she smiled, shaking her head. “You really do have a way with words, Lady Spring. I can see why Tamlin made you High Lady.”

Shula grinned back, gesturing to a side table tucked into the corner of the room. “You flatter me. I only speak the truth. How about we start with...Vassa. Write her a letter. I know she is...curious about you. She’s had a hard life herself, as I’m sure you can imagine. She comes here often. I don’t mind passing along the note while you deal with things back home. If and when you want to get to know her more, I...may be able to arrange something for the both of you.”

Morrigan felt her pulse roar once more in her ears. She swallowed thickly, thinking of Vassa amongst the roses here, or spread out over the bed she had slept in down below the wall, in that small stronghold they shared. Both sent her blood pumping and she stood stiffly, just to turn away from Shula, embarrassed at the flush in her face. She nodded, moving to the side table, finding a quill, parchment, and a well of ink. “O-Okay,” she spoke, partially to herself, partially to the woman who watched her, a softness in her gaze that she wished her own mother could have had. “Y-Yeah, okay,” she said again, sitting down at the side table with the small wooden stool provided, then began to write.

_ Dearest Vassa… _

 

* * *

“How’s the mortal lands below? Any news I should know of?”

Lucien looked up, lost in his own thoughts, as he stared across the oak desk, at the male that continued to surprise him in how much he’d changed over the past several months. He no longer looked crazed, gaunt from lack of food and weak of heart and soul, now that he’d found Shula. Everything about Tamlin was different, almost as if he was an entirely new man. It often times made him uneasy, wondering how much Tamlin had truly forgiven him, considering the male in front of him was nothing like the one he’d befriended.  _ That  _ Tamlin had always been haunted, by the ghosts of his family, his responsibility, or his failures. Now, he was light on his feet, at the height of his physical prowess, and his eyes were --  _ kind _ , not jaded.

Suddenly, Elain flashed in his mind’s eye, and he balled his left hand into a fist so hard, he felt his fingernails gouge into the flesh of his palm. Tamlin, for his part, said nothing, but the longer the silence stretched in the study, the more Lucien realized Tamlin noted the flicker of discomfort in his face. Schooling his features, he shrugged one shoulder, clearing his throat and flashing his friend a smile, pretending nothing was amiss. “Fine, I suppose. Thanks to your support, and the change of heart of many of the mortals still choosing to live there, it’s been -- quiet. A little on edge, especially along the coast, but as nothing continues to happen, even that fades. I daresay it’s almost...peaceful.”

Tamlin frowned, tapping his fingers against his chin, as he stared. Lucien shifted in his seat, smoothing out his doublet - a plain brown and yellow one, borrowing no colors or sigils from any of the courts, wanting to finally be free of all that nonsense. Tamlin had offered his sigil again, the protection of his court, even his old title back, but Lucien had refused. He’d had enough political drama of the High Courts to last a lifetime. Now, he merely wanted to live his life in peace, even if that meant below the ruins of the wall, with Vassa and Jurien and others like him - castoffs, runaways, outsiders, others who didn’t feel at home in any of the seven courts of Prythian. Their area had become a neutral zone, even if Spring’s soldiers occasionally roamed the hillside, just to ensure Hybern’s Isle remained resolutely where it was - isolated and away from the rest of the world.

“No word of the Alchemists? Nothing that would make you believe Morrigan’s claim that they’re moving on Prythian?” Tamlin asked, making him relax, glad that Tamlin hadn’t asked about what was  _ really _ bothering him, despite him probably knowing. He’d tried talking of her to him over the last several months and none of Tamlin’s gentle prodding had met with good results. It was one hard topic of his that was  _ not _ up for discussion. He hated the pity he felt in Tamlin’s eyes, the anger at being so thoroughly rejected by his mate that he couldn’t stand to even discuss it anymore. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t have a mate. Gritting his teeth against the flare of fury that rose in him, that small part of his consciousness that  _ refused  _ to give in completely that most of his mind had accepted - Elain wanted  _ no part _ of him, or the life they could have together -  he brushed away that endless sense of longing that plagued him, kept him awake at night, reaching for a phantom at his side that was never there, and stared back at his best friend, daring him to say something.

Tamlin’s eyes softened but he said nothing, merely tipping his head to the side as he waited for Lucien to answer his question about the mortals and their infamous sect of magic wielders that had taken Prythian and the others by surprise.

Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his locks, thinking of all the correspondences his contacts along the coast continued to send back each week. “No, it’s been silent. The scouts have spotted nothing out of the ordinary. It’s been very calm.” When he raised his gaze, meeting Tamlin’s intense stare, they both frowned, their suspicions brewing together. _Yeah, it has been calm,_ he thought, his gut churning, now that Morrigan had brought him here, to talk to Tamlin and Shula about the marks they’d painted on her skin, and he once more worried they’d underestimated them again. Vassa didn’t comment much on them when he prodded her, merely saying that when she was Queen, she’d forbidden their magic in her borders, but since she’d been cast out, it seemed likely that they’d taken up reign, since Azriel nor Vassa herself could access her castle now. He hadn’t yet asked her how she escaped that night, the night they’d broken in and stolen Shula back, but by the dark look in her eyes and the way she swallowed, he often wondered what price she’d been forced to pay. _Something is_ ** _wrong,_** his mind warned him, as soon as his eyes once more met Tamlin’s. _It’s been --_

“Too quiet,” He spoke aloud, surprised when Tamlin suddenly echoed his own words back to him, his own thoughts tracking like Lucien’s. Tamlin’s face when sharp, his eyes keen, as Lucien swallowed, rubbing a hand across his jaw.

“I mean,  _ hell,  _ I don’t even know what they’re dabbling in, but -- when they had her  _ tied up like that _ , so  _ weak _ , I--” Tamlin hissed, his fangs sprouting in his mouth as he grimaced, tilting his head away. “ _ Fucking hell, _ they were moments away from  _ killing _ her. I’d never been so scared in my whole damn life. Not even when Feyre stabbed me in the heart, or when...when Amarantha….”

Sighing, Tamlin turned his gaze to the rose garden just outside the window, his eyes growing soft as they gathered a far away look in their green depths, one reminiscent of the male he used to know. The roses were a gift, given to him months ago, when they’d been ruined out out spite, something his mother had once cherished, now gone. Lucien, still briefly wrestling with his own discomfort, gave in to the notion as well, trailing his eyes over the beautiful roses that Shula had managed to salvage for his friend.

“You know, if you ever convinced her, she would--like this place,” Tamlin suddenly blurted, his voice soft, but strong enough it made Lucien go rigid. “Feyre used to tell me she liked to garden.”

Sudden and immediate fury ripped through him. He’d _promised_ never to speak of it, and yet he had, making that wound inside him still lingering there, still open and bleeding freely, once more come to the forefront of his mind. He sensed Tamlin’s hesitation as he titled his head towards Lucien, staring at the floor before finally raising his gaze, meeting Lucien’s own, that fucking _pity_ staring back at him, that he couldn’t stand to be in the room any longer. _Stop it, just fucking_ ** _stop it,_** his thoughts snarled. _Not all of us get such a perfect second chance like you do, you prick._ He said none of these things, standing so sharply, he almost sent his chair flying. Tamlin merely stared back, regret beginning to etch the corners of his mouth, as his expressionless gaze turned saddened.

“Thanks for the offer, but -- we know how well that’ll hold,” He replied stiffly, ignoring the chafing flare of the incomplete mating bond flaring to life under his skin, tugging at his collar, feeling as if his own skin was strangling him under his clothes. The room felt like it was shrinking and he felt hot, flushed, embarrassed at the ache Tamlin’s words caused, knowing  _ his _ mate rejected him, in fact just hated him outright, jerking back when he came even within a meager few feet of her, like he was some kind of leper. As he smiled, the scars on his face tugged at the skin, and he resisted the urge to snarl.  _ Perhaps I am something like a monster to her,  _ he thought darkly, then headed to the door to find Morrigan.  _ No thanks to Amarantha and that little curse she placed upon you. Thanks for that, by the way, letting her dig my eyes out with her nails. It certainly was well received by my mate, wasn’t it? _ The sooner this Night business was dealt with, the sooner he could go back to the stronghold below the wall - where he could be left to his misery in peace. “If I come into any useful information, I’ll send word.”

“Lucien, wait,” Tamlin offered, but Lucien wasn’t going to listen, reaching for the door and yanking it open. He hated to say it out loud, but it pained him, seeing his friend so recovered while he rotted away from loneliness and longing for his own mate who didn’t want him. Why did  _ he  _ get a happy ending, when all of his had been ripped from him?

He didn’t hear Tamlin follow, so he picked up his pace, not stopping until he was outside the Spring Manor, heading to the edge of the gardens, hoping to clear his head before he went in search of Morrigan so he could get the hell out of here. Everything in Spring now rang of redemption and second chances and joy -- but for him, it still tasted like ash in his mouth.

* * *

Morrigan stared at the letter in her palm - so crisp, clean, professional and yet kind. It spoke truths and yet - didn’t. Still, it was all she could force herself to tell at the moment and swallowed down the sense of panic she felt at even revealing  _ this much _ of herself to a woman who might not feel the same.

Looking down, she crushed the other in her palm harder, knowing she needed to write it - get all the words out at once, in a flurry of haste - but could never gather the courage to send it. It spoke the full, unvarnished truth, truths she’d never shared with  _ anyone,  _ and she was almost afraid to keep the paper in her palm, knowing what damning words were written there. Still, it was cathartic for her to have written them, so she did. Shoving it inside her cuirass, she stood, turning, moving back to where Shula sat, studying her with that kindness she was now renowned for. Handing it over, she swallowed and smiled, just as Shula took the note, smiled back, and tucked it into a pocket hidden amongst her skirts. Just as Shula was about to say something, Tamlin came into the room and glanced between the two of them with a frown. “Is Lucien here?”

“No,” Morrigan supplied, standing straighter, willing the discomfort she had felt when she’d let Shula into her private matters out of her face, casting Tamlin a frown. “Why do you ask? Everything alright?”

Tamlin sighed, reaching for Shula when he came to stand beside her, dropping down to one knee and rubbing her stomach. Shula briefly smiled, but it waned the longer she stared. “Tamlin?”

“Everything’s fine,” he finally replied, too busy staring at Shula, offering her a faint smile in return. “I just said some things that bothered him.”

Morrigan didn’t need to know what words those were, knowing what bothered Lucien most nights. She frowned, shifting slightly on her feet, glancing towards the hall. She could help him, but to interfere with Feyre’s sister could be unwise, given how much the young female still struggled with her own unbidden powers from the Cauldron.

Noting how Shula and Tamlin seemed to be staring at one another, lost in bond talk, she finally sighed. “I’ll find him. It’s best we take our leave anyways, since this matter is urgent. I’ll...be in touch.” She nodded to them both, heading for the door. 

She didn’t wait to be dismissed by them, nor escorted off the ground by the guards, looking out the long row of bay windows lining the hall, spotting Lucien’s unique hair color in the distance, amongst the rose gardens. A pained, angered expression etched his face, and she winnowed close, startling him.

“Ready?” She asked, holding out her hand. He stared at her, frowning, but took her hand, and Morrigan pulled them away from Spring, towards Night.

* * *

They landed individually, feet settling on snow and ice, and Cassian didn’t wait to ask, just lifting Nesta in his arms, grunting at the others to take cabins nearby, and the men acted as one - Azriel tugging Astra along with him, to the one to the right of the cabin Cassian marched towards, and Enar guided Astrid and Hammund to the other, on the left. Nesta said nothing during all this, merely tightening her arms around his neck, her side of the bond dark. For once, he didn’t question her solemness, chalking it up to her shocked system still recovering. In the morning, he’d see about contacting Devlon, pushing him to secrecy as he moved the other women in training here - with or without the clan’s support, knowing if the Illyrians who followed Astra’s brother rose up to fight, they’d need the women in fighting order as soon as possible.

His eyes briefly clashed with the soldier’s and Enar gave a brief nod, murmuring for his companions to go inside and lock up. He would be first watch. Glancing over to Azriel, he noted his friend’s dark, predatory expression as he stared at the bound woman in his grip, who wouldn’t meet his eye even when he pressed her to. Shadows bloomed on his skin, and his teeth flashed as his lips peeled back, like he wanted to snarl, but he merely guided her with a soft touch to the cabin door they’d claimed, following her inside. He never once raised his gaze to Cassian, but Cassian knew he could trust the Spymaster to keep her close. He’d heard what Cassian had called her brother and no doubt knew what that entailed, with the shadows at his beck and call. 

Glancing down, noting Nesta clinging to him, her eyes closed and her arms flung around his neck, a deep well of arousal and possessive fury wove itself through his heart as he moved with her.  _ You good, babe? _

_ Yes, _ she murmured in the bond, her words strong and sure, almost warm, despite her body still remaining limp in his arms.  _ I’m fine. I feel safe with you. _

_ You want me to tuck you in and leave you alone? I can take first watch instead of Enar, if you need--space. _

Slowly, her head tilted back, her eyes opening as her fingers tightened around the base of his neck, in his hair.  _ No,  _ she murmured down the bond, wriggling in his grasp, getting closer, until she was flush against his chest, her head resting against his left shoulder.  _ I want you close with me. I want you to make love to me, remind me how good it is between us. It helps me, Cassian. Please? Will you lay with me tonight? _

Oh, he’d definitely lay with her tonight - the mere suggestion had him instantly hard, where she could no doubt tell, her fingers tightening in his hair as his cock surged to full awareness at remembering how good it felt to plunge inside her, that tight heat enveloping him so thoroughly, he practically lost consciousness when he exploded.  _ Fuck yeah, I’ll be with you, if that’s what you want,  _ he responded in the bond, not trusting his voice, able to hear his own ragged breathing as his fingers tightened on her hips from where he held her, moving with more determination than before towards the cabin he intended to protect her in. The questions he had for her could wait until morning. Azriel, from the way he’d looked, wouldn’t let him near Astra for the time being anyways. And when Nesta had suggested he fuck her -- _By the cauldron,_ his damn dicked  _ ached.  _

“You’re okay?” He asked her, his tone curious, wanting to be sure she was serious before they reached the cabin door, knowing once he had her in the bedroom, all bets were off.  She nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his jawline that had him suppressing a snarl, grinding his hips briefly against her own as he rattled the door handle loose with his power and stepped inside, kicking the door shut and tugging her closer. She shivered, the temperature in the meagerly furnished gathering room no better than outside, and he frowned, lifting her again and moving towards the bedroom, knowing his way, all cabins in Illyria carrying usually the same floor pattern outside of the war chief’s.

“I can walk,” she bantered back, her tone a soft tease, but he grunted again and ignored it, enjoying holding her, enjoying the heat that was innately her, calling to the furnace in him. He liked the way her womanly hips cushioned his harder ones, how her softness teased his cock into a frenzy, and ignored her small stifled laughter as he moved her down the hallway. How often had he dreamed of this - her, in his arms, wanting him, ready for him, whispering down their mated bond for him to make love to her?

“Let me get you under the covers, so I can start a fire. It’s cold in here, won’t warm up ‘til I do, and I don’t want you catching cold,” he commented, deciding as much as he wanted her right then and there, he’d do the gentlemanly thing and try and make the cabin more hospitable before he threw himself down on her like a starving man. His cock screamed in protest but he bit down on the frustration tearing up his insides. Most saw him as such - brutish, primal, primitive, but it was important to him she see that he was willing to be civilized for her sake.

Stepping into the Master Suite, he moved with her across the room, gently settling her on the bed, intending to move back and do just what he said he would - start a fire. Nesta, it seemed, had other plans, refusing to unlace her fingers from his hair, staring at him with eyes so warm and full of fire he trembled with the craving to give in - just one kiss,  _ one mind numbing fuck with the woman he loved,  _ and then he’d make the fire.

He knew better, though. He knew, if they got started, he wouldn’t be able to stop, not until they both could barely function, barely move, and by then the cabin would be cold, the covers wouldn’t be enough, and he wouldn’t be able to leave her. “Nesta, babe, let go,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against her temple. “Let me start the fire.”

Nesta merely stared, biting her lower lip, her eyes roaming over him. “I used to fantasize about you,” she admitted, making him suddenly go rigidly still.  _ She...what? _

“Even when I was human,” she whispered, glancing back up into his face, as her hands trailed over his shoulder blades, across his pectorals, then lower down his chest, towards his brais. “I would...touch myself,” she whispered, her cheeks heating, making his tongue too thick to swallow, his blood turning to fire, as he listened to her admit something he’d always wondered. Hell, he’d jacked off to seeing her - he’d admit that right now. He fucked other women before the war, sure, but would it be bad if he admitted he only picked brunettes, and imagined they were  _ her? _

“And when I would make myself come, which...I admit, I wasn’t very good at, since we -  _ ah _ \- didn’t exactly promote that with young ladies where I came from, I’d imagine  _ you,  _ inside me, coming as well.” His grip tightened on her with those words and he let out a groan when she finally cupped him, testing his constrained length beneath her fingers. He was already dangerously aroused and the feel of her small hands on his cock, even under dense leather, made him want to shove open the lapels of her robe and bury himself in her, now that she was more or less back to her normal self. “ _ Fuck,  _ Nesta - you got to stop, babe. You’ve been put through a lot today and I don’t want to scare you.”

“You won’t hurt me. Don’t you want it?” She murmured, nipping at his jaw. 

_ Fuck, did she really have to ask that?  _ He groaned again, squeezing his eyes shut. “You have your hand on my dick, babe. I’m as hard as fucking steel. You know I want it. _ Fuck, do I want it.” _ Slowly, he tugged her hand away, standing slowly, watching her eyes lower, staring at his cock with those blue-grey eyes of fire, and he had to stifle yet another growl of arousal that ripped through him. “You keep doing that and I won’t get that fire going for a while. You know how we are when we start. It’ll be hours before we come up for air. Let me make sure the cabin’s secure and your pretty little ass won’t freeze to death, and I swear on my life I’ll fuck you into next week - hard and hot and heavy - if that’s what you want.”

She raised her eyes once more, her eyes hooding, clashing with his own, before they lowered, lingering over his body. Finally, they met his again, glinting with that ferocity he loved so much, and he struggled to suck air into his lungs at the suggestion that tumbled from her mouth. “On one condition.”

He wanted to laugh - at her fiery spirit bouncing back so easily from what she’d endured, watching the Nesta he loved stare at him with determination. “Oh? What’s that, babe?”

“I get to make you come in my mouth before you fuck me,” she whispered, her cheeks pinkening. He went completely still, his eyes widening, realizing the flush in her face meant only one thing -  _ she’d never let a man take her mouth. _

_ Holy fucking hell.  _ “Y-Yeah, o-kay. Deal.” He rasped, his tone guttural, watching a feline smile creep over her face, as she leaned back, tugging the lapels of her robe tight against her body, teasing him. 

“Don’t take too long,” she reminded him, offering him a yawn. “It’s been a long day and I  _ am _ rather sleepy.”

His breathing turned ragged, and he turned away hastily to tend to the fire, hearing her small chuckle at his reaction to her tease. Hurrying towards the front door, he prayed Feyre thought of everything when this village was completed, because he really wasn’t in the mood to go hunting for kindling, not when Nesta’s promise lingered in his mind.

* * *

The mountain was cold, clipped with ice and snow, the wind wailing as loud as a banshee between the pine-crusted limbs of the forest that backed up against the ledge the man in robes stood against. His steel grey eyes surveyed the realm of Fae, a puff of air escaping his nostrils as he exhaled softly and spat in the snow, the spittle forming into ice well before it hit the ground.

He hated it here, especially this wintery wasteland called Illyria. The people here were tough, but simple, not for the likes of which he hoped to aspire to. Agreeing to the eager, vengeful needs of an Illyrian male at the time had seemed so simple, but now -- he was growing impatient. 

“Useless,” the mortal muttered, when his eyes canted towards a village in the distance, its fires dim, its people turned in for the night. Taking their power had become such a simple thing - a chore, really. He could have shown the traveler how to harness his own power if he wanted, but -- no. That would be unwise. That one wanted vengeance with a thirst that wasn’t easily slackened and he figured, sooner rather than later, that would make the male sloppy. He was strong, and for now, he served a purpose that aligned with his own. 

Pity he couldn’t curb his basal urges more, requiring Josias to plot again without him.

Suddenly, the winds stopped, and he turned towards the dead Northern Winds, watching snow and ice stop drifting from the gray skies above him. They were nearly here, it seemed, making him briefly show a shadow of a smile towards the village in the distance that once more held his attention. He pitied them, in a way, like one did a dog that outwore his usefulness. They were resistant to change, something that would be their downfall sooner rather than later, even he had to respect the General the traveler  wanted for that. He’d seen it, knew it, and tried to force change out of these people, but they continued to dig in resolutely, despite not being smart enough to notice they were tightening the noose around their own necks.

They were nothing more than a long line of brutish peasants, following the clang of steel and battle - little use to a man of his calling. Still, the male that had sought them out offered promise, in the boons he could offer them. If he failed to follow through on them...well, there were other ways, and other courts, to find what they wanted. Suddenly, the atmosphere changed, made his ears ring and his head spin, all sound ceasing entirely, and he knew then that they had come.

“Josias,” one spoke, stepping out of the woods. He wore all black, even over his face. It was said no one ever saw his face, even when it was not covered in shrouds, and Josias could lay truth to that claim. Even he, who had nearly finished Amaury’s work, a spellcraft that would change everything, feared what this one knew. He spoke to shadows,  _ owned _ and  _ bent _ them to his whim, and Josias did everything in his power to avoid angering the man. “How fares our alliance? Will we get what we were promised?”

“You already know the answer to that,” he murmured back, staring at the man in black. The man chuckled, briefly bowing his head, a blackness gathering around him that made a ripple of unease shudder through his frame, but he didn’t show it outwardly. Glancing past him, having passed his little test,  he watched the others that had joined him step forward, one in particular making a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat at the feel of the cold, before stepping forward, away from the others, to address him. They had called this meeting when the Illyrian they met with continued to fail to meet their expectations, and time was of the essence, before Prythian grew wiser to their plans.

“Then why continue to aid him? What purpose does it serve us? There is another, more easily obtained specimen. He even bears the promise of the sigil of the one we prize the most. Has this lesson not been enough, old friend? You truly wish to take their most powerful? Is your arrogance so great that you would cost us everything?”  Ikalis spoke, clothed in the trades he specialized in, his eyes an odd shade of silver, as he stepped forward.

_ Ah, yes,  _ he thought, narrowing his eyes at Ikalis,  _ the golden fox. So, it’s true, that his heritage is what they thought.  _ “Is that not what  _ you’re _ planning? How,  _ exactly _ , do you plan on achieving that? By a show of force? Knocking on his door and politely asking him to die so his son can ascend in his stead and we can use him?”

The man’s silver eyes narrowed back, but Josias held up a hand before he could speak. “There’s a female here, a cauldron-born one. She possesses something of the cauldron I believe no others have. She could be very valuable to us, if we manage to obtain her.”

The air grew still again, as did his companions. The shadows around the man in black increased. He had their attention, offering them a faint smile.  _ Good. _ “Go on,” Ikalis gritted out, his face harsh but his tone suggesting he was open to discussion.

“Let me continue to feed the traveler. All I need him to do is kill the one his heart desires most - the one he wants to burn to ash. The female is his mate. Without him, she’ll be pliable, easy. We strike, take her, then our business is done and we can focus on your other...activities.” He glanced at Ikalis pointedly, telling him without words he’d support his little endeavor to catch the fox, so they could find these rumored libraries the Day Court held, if the rumors were true.

“Very well,” Ikalis bit out, glancing back to the others. They nodded, even the man in black, pulling close to one another, then were gone, leaving Josias out in the windy, wailing cold once more.

Drawing his robes tighter, he left, a smile on his face.


	24. Chapter 24

Lucien backed away immediately once they placed solid feet on the ground beside the manse that Feyre had refurbished as her new home with Rhysand and Elain. It glittered like starlight against the Sidra with all the hanging lanterns leading to the portico, a structure that somehow managed to straddle the line with apparent ease between threatening opulence and a quaint homestead for the High Lord and High Lady.

Morrigan smiled at the finished structure, one she hadn’t seen since she’d gone south, turning towards Lucien to comment on it’s attractive appearance against the other large merchant houses surrounding it, but he hadn’t been looking the same way, alreading having turned to  head towards the market square, to the pubs located there, no doubt. The action reminded her of Nesta and she frowned, shaking her head at the annoyance bubbling in the back of her mind. He’d been upset when she found him, yes, but he was here to do a _job_ , not drowned his problems in a glass of bourbon.

“Leaving so soon?” She called, arching an eyebrow when he stopped and looked back her way, his lips thinning for a fraction of a second before his good eye followed her hand gesture, looking at the house she pointed towards. “Remember why you’re here, fox. I hadn’t written him since we left. It’s only polite to say hello and let them know you’re here and why, don’t you think? I did go out of my way to extend the offer, after all.” He said nothing, just merely stared at the massive structure, and she sighed, dropping her arm and coming closer, watching him bristle. Elain was on his mood, clearly, and whatever him and Tamlin had talked about really had worked up his defenses. He was practically radiating hostility the closer she got. “I’ll make it short, then you can be on your way,” she murmured, dropping her voice so that none of those passing them on the streets could hear, hoping it would settle the male next to her. It didn’t. “I’m sure they’ll let you crash at the town house, if you want me to ask, or you’re welcome to stay with me.”

“Will _she_ be here?” He asked, not yet moving, when she turned to head towards Rhysand and Feyre’s estate. She blinked, glancing over at him once more, and she noted the way he stared at the manse, the corners of his eyes briefly tightening in apprehension, then met her gaze, that brief flicker of discomfort slowly fading. Morrigan paused, then came over to him, clasping his shoulder, watching his eyes turn back to the house, examining each window, as if he might spot her. He didn’t move his eyes off the mansion, but she felt the tension in his body, as if he were seconds from shoving her grip off him.

“I don’t know for sure....” She paused, watching his head swivel, meet her gaze steadily with his own, stoic and harsh. She softened her gaze, nodding. “But--Yes, I’m sure she will be. She lives with Feyre...” She started again, watching him sneer and bark out a faint burst of harsh laughter, loud enough to cut off her words. She frowned, watching him glance back at the mansion, study each window, then finally nodded curtly, throwing out a grand gesture for her to go forward and he would follow, his expression filled hostility and bitterness, even as he attempted to flash her a smile. She wasn’t fooled, but when his face finally cooled into polite civility, she stepped forward, hearing him follow.

“But she won’t see me, so I shouldn't worry about running into her, right?” He muttered at her back, his tone soft but yet menacing enough it made Morrigan frown, but she pretended not to hear.

Morrigan nodded at the guards as they approached, pleased at the two Illyrians that guarded the door seemed to take their duty seriously, making them pause and announce their names and titles. Once spoken, they turned, opening the double doors, ushering them inside and following. She offered them a faint nod of approval as they led them down a white marble hallway, filled with flowering plants - a token of Elain, no doubt - and were asked to wait inside a beautifully decorated parlor while a servant was sent to get Rhysand and Feyre. The room was understated and lovely, the first time she’d seen it completed, the bare wooden walls covered in blues and purple tapestries depicting Starfall, with a few of Feyre’s paintings gracing the walls between thick shelves of books, the marble flooring shifting from white to black with a smattering of white and opalescent veining throughout. Against the far wall stood a sweeping series of awning windows that displayed the gentle movement of the river and the cityscape beyond box shrubs and even more gorgeous night-blooming flowers. In the center of the room, stood two chaise lounges, inviting those who gathered here to read amongst friends, the arrangement meant to allow everyone to co-mingle. It was beautiful and spoke well of Feyre’s tastes for decorating.

Lucien walked across the plush carpets underfoot that blunted their footsteps against the marble and leaning against one of the window panes, crossing his arms over his chest and doing everything within his power to appear unaffected, despite most likely sensing his mate in the large house, where she notably chose not to come and greet him. It was obvious to her, in the way his mouth seemed too tense, his eyes too focused on the cityscape across the river, for her not to sense such  things. Morrigan frowned, about to open her mouth and tell him if this assignment made him so uneasy, he was welcome to go back down below the wall, stay with Vassa, but before she could do so, Rhysand and Feyre swept into the room.

Turning, she grinned at them both, feeling Rhysand’s power swell in the room, making it slightly darker, more turning the tapestries gracing the walls more purple than blue, as Feyre returned the smile and stretched out her arms, welcoming Morrigan’s bracing hug that followed.

“I missed you both,” she murmured, turning to give Rhysand a nod, glancing back slowly to where Lucien turned, watching the greeting with a closed off expression. Rhysand said nothing, but his eyes briefly narrowed in the direction of the male - that is until Feyre stepped out of Morrigan’s reach and walked across the room, giving Lucien a faint smile and look-over, then surprised both her and Rhysand by leaning forward, giving Lucien a faint hug of his own. He didn’t completely return it, merely resting a hand against her hip for a second or two as he leaned towards her, his good eye and golden eye clashing with theirs from across the parlor, until Feyre pulled back, giving him a faint frown when she saw his tension still there, before glancing Morrigan’s way, looking to her to pick up the conversation and stifle the sudden strain in the silence that had followed.

“Sorry I didn’t warn you, Lucien is here as an emissary for Spring,” Morrigan said, watching Rhysand study the male curiously for several seconds. With her words, he glanced her way, and she hastily amended what she said, watching Lucien stiffen, knowing he didn’t wish to be connected to _any_ court these days. They’d grown close enough during her stay for her to sense his caution in regards to all court-related business when missives arrived and they were discussed over dinner. “In an unofficial capacity, of course. Tamlin’s curious why you haven’t mentioned the Alchemists at the High Lord Summit, is all. I thought Lucien could put his mind at ease, given his mate’s….history...with them.”

Rhysand seemed to mull this over, glancing back at Lucien, who stood next to Feyre, his brows lowering the longer he stared back at Rhysand’s stoic face. Feyre was the one to interrupt the tense silence in the room, flashing everyone a pleased smile before nodding and glancing towards Lucien. “I think it’s a wonderful idea,” she commented, briefly touching Lucien’s palm with her own. “We haven’t said anything because at the time, all we had were rumors, no actual evidence. I’m sure, given the next meeting, when we have more, we’ll mention it. For now, why don’t you two join us? We were just about to have dinner. Hungry?”

It went without saying that it would not be spoken of, outside of this room, _without_ their express permission. Morrigan nodded, catching Rhysand’s gaze before he shifted it to Lucien, tipping his head to the side. Lucien murmured his agreement, but went completely rigid at the mention of a formal dinner, muttering that he’d eat in the city. Morrigan turned her eyes away, not wanting to watch the male’s suffering when Feyre frowned again and glanced towards him. She met Rhysand’s eyes, who tilted his head towards the hall, silently asking her to follow so that his mate could try and coax Lucien into staying. More than happy to oblige, she moved with him, doing her best to ignore the soft pleas of Feyre and Lucien’s terse responses.

“Elain takes most of her meals in her rooms, Lucien, so it’ll--”

“No need to explain. I’m here, I didn’t expect her to show. It’s fine, Feyre, I’ll join you. Thanks for the offer.”

“Lucien, if you’d just give her time…”

Their voices faded when she was finally out in the hallway and Rhysand closed the door, moving with her down the hall, letting out a ragged sigh. “ _Cauldron Above_ , I’m tired of walking on eggshells when it concerns those two,” Rhysand muttered beside her, once they were a safe distance away, Morrigan’s boots echoing loudly on the tiled floor beneath her boots, covering up any chance his words might carry. She cast him a glare, earning an eye roll from him in turn. “Oh, _hells,_ not you too?”

“Just--try and place yourself in _their_ shoes, Rhys,” Morrigan scolded, ignoring his faint laugh and smirk. “It can’t be easy, for either of them.”

“Well, aren’t _you_ suddenly the bleeding heart these days,” Rhysand murmured, making her pause and glare back at him. “Since when did you care about the fox?”

 _Since I got to know him below the wall,_ her mind echoed back, but she chose to keep quiet. She still held the stern glare directed his way, though, and Rhysand rolled his eyes once more, making her finally answer. “He’s had a tough go of it, Rhys.”

“So have you, so has everyone else on this damned island,” muttered Rhysand, making Morrigan shrug a shoulder. It was true, but it still didn’t mean she didn’t pity the male, even if he hated the very thought of pity directed his way.

Rhysand stared at her long enough, she noted the flicker of his eyes, telling her he was annoyed she wasn’t joining in on his little game of ‘pick on the unmated pair.’ He finally sighed, shaking his head, continuing to walk with her down the hall, towards the dining room. Suddenly, he spoke, his tone casual, but the words making her suddenly draw to a halt.

“By the way, Cass claimed Nesta. Turns out that they’re mates.”

Morrigan blinked, going completely still. She felt Rhysand pause, turning to look back at her with a smug expression on his face, having stepped a few feet ahead of her while _that_ bombshell tried sinking in. She swallowed, meeting his eyes, noting knowing how she should respond.

Remembering how the icy female had left soft-hearted Cassian out in the elements too many times to count, she tried to open her mouth to say something nice, but somehow -- _couldn’t._ She knew Cassian’s keen interest in the female, even if Morrigan thought he deserved better, but to have Rhysand just throw out that life-changing rebuttal like he was simply discussing the weather made her suddenly angry, especially when she failed to respond, earning her a faint mocking laugh from Rhysand in the process. She glared at him, pissed at the pleased look on his face, even as he stepped back towards her, clapping his hands and gently tracing her jaw with a finger. “Ah, _there it is._ Not all nice words _now_ , are we? Where’s this righteous anger you suddenly have, _hmm?_ Or does it only apply to certain individuals?”

She opened her mouth to snap at him, but they both stilled, hearing the door to the parlor Feyre and Lucien had just been in swing open. Grabbing hold of his wrist, she dragged him into a darkened alcove, where more of Elain’s plants were being sheltered, giving him a furious stare that he returned, keeping quiet until they watched Feyre lead a subdued Lucien down the hallway, past where they stood quiet, towards the dining room Feyre had spoken of having dinner in.

“Thats unfair and you know it,” she hissed, punching his shoulder so hard, the noise echoed in the hallway and he grunted from the impact. “Why the _fuck_ would you tell me of their mating like that? When did this happen?”

“Not long ago, when you were down South,” Rhysand murmured, watching Morrigan process it. She swallowed, realizing she’d better make amends for the things she’d said - to him, to her - if she wanted to continue to count them as friends going forward. Cassian was loyal to a fault, almost obsessively so, and if he’d taken Nesta as a _mate_ , he’d take an intense interest in sheltering her. If they didn’t watch their words, he’d cut them off. He’d never change his loyalties, no - but their friendship would never be the same. “He told me in a meeting, after I’d smelled it on him.”

She winced, thinking of how they’d all treated her since the war, even if some of it was warranted through the female’s hostile actions. It made her feel doubly responsible for how Cassian would feel if they rejected the mating, considering how it would make her feel if she took Vassa openly as a lover, only for the others to look disgusted. _That_ sudden jolting realization rocked her to the core, sudden remorse welling up inside her for her past actions. It certainly made the situation surreal and painfully reflective of her own circumstances.

“Well? You’ve got nothing to say?”

She looked up, staring at Rhysand’s sour expression, and she noticed the faint tension bracketing his mouth. “I should give them both my congratulations, Rhys. You know that.” She frowned, watching a look of distaste briefly flash across his features, his violet eyes going dark, the pit of her stomach growing hard. _Fuck, tell me you didn’t do what I think you did_ . “I _know_ that look,” she slowly started, watching him stiffen. “You _said_ something, didn’t you? What did you say?”

“ _Hells,_ Mor, you’re seriously going to give me _that_ look?” Rhysand spat back, glancing down the hall, making sure they were alone, before he sagged against the wall and sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. When he glanced at Morrigan, she scowled, giving him a pointed look, and he rolled his eyes. “I didn’t _say anything._ I may have _looked_ a certain way, however.”

“For _fuck’s_ sake, Rhys,” Morrigan started, groaning and shaking her head, watching Rhysand snarl and explode at her with anger, coming inches from her face.

 _“Excuse me?_ I’m talking to _you,_ Mor! You didn’t like the idea of them any better than I did, even when Cass was just entertaining the idea of them, not that he might actually mate her!” Rhysand hissed, looking furious and, unless she was mistaken, more than a little guilty. “She is a hostile female! An absolute mess! Too many times she left him high and dry, and Cassian is--”

“Able to take care of himself,” She supplied, watching the anger in Rhysand flare dangerously out of control, then suddenly dissipate, agony replacing it. He sagged against the wall beside her, running a hand through his hair, turning his face away, even if she knew he fidgeted out of agitation and remorse more than anything. “She is Feyre’s sister, Rhys. And his mate, it seems.”

“Well, aren’t you all sappy and supportive of this,” Rhysand growled, his eyes narrowing her way again, before he once more looked torn between dejection and regret. “Why the sudden change of heart, Mor? Don’t tell me you also wish Elain and Lucien to end their pitiful avoidance of one another, too? What’s come over you?”

Rhysand’s sudden prod made her immensely uncomfortable, especially when Vassa came to her mind’s eye. She’d lived a lie for centuries now, but with Vassa now a part of her life, it made it strike dangerously close to home. She had no right to judge, not after the secrets _she’d_ been harboring for most of her life. In fact, all she felt now was sudden exhaustion and shame. She met his stare head on, knowing if she flinched, showed her sudden fatigue, or looked away, he’d immediately clue in to her discomfort. “Nothing, Rhys, just -- if it makes them happy, so be it. They’re also mates, so clearly something beyond our understanding is at work. No one in the history of Prythian has ever argued against a mating, no matter how odd or circumspect the pairing may appear to others - _remember?_ ”

She gave him a pointed stare, reminding him of his own happiness he held with Feyre that otherwise would potentially still be challenged today, if either him or Tamlin hadn’t claimed their respective mates, Rhysand’s own having been engaged to Tamlin for months prior to when Rhysand claimed her. Finally, Rhysand’s anger faded, shifting towards a pained look instead, and she ignored the spur of guilt in her own gut, since she still had failed to say anything pleasant of the mating, just feeling immense relief that Cassian would no longer be forced to play puppet to Morrigan’s problem with Azriel. She briefly shuddered at the long talk that Cassian’s mating would warrant with Azriel, but knew it was time - for both of them.

“For _hell’s_ sake, leave it to you to make me feel like an utter and complete ass,” Rhysand muttered. “No more than I already do,” he added, when she leaned over and squeezed his shoulder, slowly meeting her eyes. Morrigan stared, suddenly noting the tired edges of his face, and she blinked. There was something else she was missing here - something more than needing to fix his fractured relationship with Cassian.

“Is everything alright?” She murmured, stepping close. Rhysand tensed, but slowly sagged against her, embracing her in a hug so tight, she felt her ribs creak.

“Feyre’s pregnant,” he murmured, so soft, she almost missed it. Her eyes widened and his hug tightened impossibly further. “I’m scared, Mor. Scared I could fuck this up. Scared I’ll become my father.”

“ _Damn,”_ She whispered, hugging him back. “You _won’t,”_ she murmured in his ear, squeezing onto him tighter. Suddenly, she thumped him in the ribs, hearing him grunt and pull away, wiping at his face. She stared at him in concern, shaking her head. “Why didn’t you call me back sooner? You’ve got an impossibly large amount of things on your plate. That’s _why_ I’m third in command, that’s _why_ you have an Inner Circle, Rhys. This isn’t _Under the Mountain_ anymore, Rhys. Let us carry some of the weight, that’s why we are here, so you don’t have to do all this on your own. _Trust us to help you._ What do you _need?”_

Watching Rhysand shift nervously on his feet, saying nothing, she frowned and recognized the sudden guilt eating at Rhysand, having felt the same inside herself for years in regards to the two Illyrians so close to him. Well, for starters, they could work on amending his and Cassian’s friendship, and the rest -- could be tackled after. “Perhaps tomorrow, when I go with the boys to scope the caves, you could take a few minutes to meet with him first? We’ve got the markings from Shula and Tamlin, we should meet over it before we set out in the morning. Talk to him, Rhys. He will understand. Both of you met your mates at hard times in your life. You’re more alike than you think.”

Rhysand nodded, sighing and rubbing his forehead, pushing away from the wall and offering his arm. Morrigan smiled, taking his elbow once he pulled himself back together, and let him lead her down the hall towards dinner.

As they passed a mirror, Morrigan grimaced at the state of her hair. While Feyre or Rhysand wouldn’t say anything, Amren had no such qualms, and it would be her luck that the female showed tonight. “Actually, let me freshen up first. Go on, I’ll meet you there. Which doorway?”

“Fourth on the left. The facilities is this one.” Rhysand gestured across the hall, pulling his arm from her hands. He didn’t wait to see if she found her way, moving down the hall, briefly calling over his shoulder as he went. “Mor...thanks.”

“He’ll forgive you, Rhys.You’re his brother,” she reminded him, then slipped into the small room to frown at her appearance and set herself to rights. Suddenly, she thought again of Vassa and sighed, pulling out that crumpled letter from before.

Opening it slightly, intending to set it against the flame by the wall and burn it to ash, she suddenly tensed and brought it close, struggling to stifle a scream. _No,_ her thoughts screamed, _No, I didn't, I couldn’t have, it’s not...fuck, no….oh fuck…._

In her grip, staring back at her, was nothing but polite, morally ambiguous words. **_The wrong words._ **

_She’d sent the wrong fucking letter._

Her eyes lifted, looking at her perfectly coiffed appearance staring back at her - Morrigan, the Truthseeker, long golden hair with loose waves about her face, golden eyes, perfectly laid scarlet doublet and trousers - with a face filled with inexplicable panic.

For all she knew, Shula had already given her the letter, she’d never mentioned how often Vassa visited. Vassa was often gone for days at a time when Morrigan was there, though towards the end, she had always made an effort to be present for meals, trying to engage her in talk. If she showed up now, when she had a duty in Night, it would look suspicious.

She squeezed her eyes shut, the panic becoming overwhelming, her breathing whistling between her teeth as she moaned faintly in shock. That letter held _everything_ in it, and it was in Spring or with the exiled mortal queen herself. _Fuck, oh fuck, oh gods, what do I do? WHAT DO I--_

“Mor?” A soft rap on the other side of the door made her snap out of her fear-induced trance. It was Feyre. “Are you coming? Amren’s here. She wants Lucien to help her with the symbol translation. Cass and Azriel were sent messages to come in the morning. If you’re not feeling well, I could show you to your room? I can hear you--are you crying?”

“ _Fine!_ ” She nearly shouted, wincing, slowing her panicked breathing to a normal cadence. “I’m fine,” she supplied, turning and opening the door, plastering a smile on her face. “Nothing’s wrong, I just lost track of the time. That’s good to hear about Lucien and Amren and…” She grabbed Feyre’s hand, ignoring the woman’s faint frown as she stared at her pale features, “It turns out, I’m _famished._ Let’s eat.”

* * *

The first thing Astra noted was his quiet fury as he guided her into the cabin, a hand at the small of her back, and steered her towards the Master Suite. Instantly, she stiffened, skidding to a stop, not caring that the brunt weight of him pressed against her back as his hand tensed, gently nudging her forward. She was _not_ going in that room with him, not when he was angry, those dark shadows licking at his collar, and he thought her a traitor.

“No,” she replied, gritting her teeth, turning in the hallway to meet his steel-eyed gaze. The narrow corridor was darker than usual, and she could hear them as they stood there, staring at one another. If she listened hard enough, she could have swore they _whispered._ “I am not sharing a room with you, Azriel.”

“You’re to be within eyesight of me at all times, so _yes,_ Astra, you _will.”_ Azriel replied, his tone soft, yet somehow so much more menacing than Cassian’s louder, sharper one. She went rigid, glaring at him, baring her teeth, but he showed no outward reaction, merely staring her down, those darkened shadows drawing closer. It infuriated her how attractive he looked, all shadows and scars, with a dark predatorial glint in his eyes as he noticed her silent challenge.

When she went to move around him, his wings flared, blocking the hallway, and she spat at him and whirled, intending to march into the other room, but he struck - so fast and silent, her pulse gave chase to fear and ricocheted in the base of her throat when his grip surrounded her, pulling her back against his side, the chains binding her wrists making a rattling sound in reaction to the sudden movement. “Let me go,” she grit out again, but he didn’t listen, merely picking her up as if she weighed nothing and brought her in the Master Suite, slamming the door closed, then depositing her back on her feet in the middle of the room.

She whirled, backing up against the opposite wall, and he merely stared back, tugging his wings close again and crossing his arms, staring at her with that calm cold face she saw Nesta wear often. Nesta’s eyes, though, always told a hint of the truth inside her - stormy, filled with raging hot anguish or cold brittle loneliness and fear - which was why she’d befriended her so quickly, able to see a sliver of the real woman underneath all that ice.

Not so for the Spymaster.

He was a complete blank slate, staring at her with eyes so empty and fathomless, if she wasn’t attracted to him or knew of his proclivity to loyalty and honor towards the General, she’d be frightened of him. When her heart finally settled, she looked around the room, noting the windows and doors slowly going dark in the otherwise sparse room outside of the large, simple bed - pitch black forming in the intensity of the shadows gathering there - and cast him another glance. He merely stared back.

She raised her hands, offering him her wrists. He didn’t move. Instant fury tore at her gut and she laughed, the sound abrasive and angry, all of what she felt in that moment. “You’re seriously going to keep me tied up all night? You have to know I have nothing to do with what happened to Nesta!”

“Yes,” was all he said - tone soft, eyes unreadable, expression blank - and she stepped forward, wanting to slap _something_ into his face. This was complete _insanity_ , if only she could _see_ Nesta, talk to her, find her brother and talk to _him_ , fix whatever the hell they thought he was guilty of, they’d see that this was all one big mistake.

“You fucking bastard, _I didn’t do anything!_ Just let me _talk_ to her and --” She gasped when his hand reached out, catching her wrist, stopping it before it could connect with his face. She jerked back, but he didn’t let go, in fact, he hauled her up against him so tightly, she blushed as her body molded to his. She was embarrassed at how his form - muscular and hard and smelling so positively _male_ \- made her weak in the knees. His eyes lowered over her, noting her reaction to being so close, and it was suddenly then she saw his nostrils and pupils flare briefly, stunning her into silence. _So, you’re not the only one who notices this...thing...between us._

“Do not do that again,” He murmured, then let her go, not bothering to help her when she stumbled back, nearly losing her footing. As much as she found him attractive, he unnerved her, and when he held her that close, those shadows of him so near, she felt _attuned_ to him somehow. It scared her a hell of a lot worse than whatever went on inside his head, with those shadows he cradled so dearly.

Suddenly fatigued, she slumped onto the bed, shivering at the cold and drawing a blanket around herself. She stared at the door that she assumed went into the bathroom facilities, or what was left of one, as it was covered in shadows that still whispered back at her, this time a filament of laughter caressing her ears, making her spine stiffen at the insult. _Fuck you, too,_ she mouthed at the door, and she could have sworn it _rippled_ in amusement.

She didn’t look up, just heard Azriel move, and suddenly the room flared brightly, where he had started a fire. She frowned, not asking how he started it, having not left the room, only moving her eyes towards the door once more when she stared, feeling terror tear at her senses, as the shadows didn’t shrink away from the flames, they stayed put, like a tangible mass against the wall.

Whispers once more tugged at her senses, the longer she stared, and she almost clamped a hand over her ears to try and make them stop. Suddenly, the bed beside her dipped and she yelped, tearing her eyes away from the shadows to meet Azriel’s expressionless ones. He said nothing, giving her a thorough once-over, then tossed more blankets over her. “Get some sleep.” He made no move to lay down next to her, just sat on his side of the bed, turning his gaze to the fire.

Once more, she thought of Nesta, biting down on her lower lip in worry. Nesta _had_ looked somewhat hollow, when Cassian had nearly strangled Enar, and if what she and he said were true -- She swallowed, squeezing her eyes shut, her stomach rolling. How _could_ he do such a thing? It was true, Stian had always been plagued with darkness in one form or another, ever since they were children, especially after that one brief summer, but... _why?_ What was he _thinking_ , going against the Inner Circle and the High Lord of Night? He stood no chance against them, he was neither gifted in power nor numbers, even when he did inherit father’s forces upon his death -- so _why?_ Why take it out on _Nesta?_ He knew how she felt growing up back home, how ostracized their culture made her feel, and yet….She reflected back on when she’d first found him after she’d fled father and their home village, down South to where Devlon was training and he had found work, and swallowed at the fury she’d seen in his eyes, in the way he barely held himself back. How had she missed it? Suddenly, she felt sick, violated in her own way, for having allowed him into Nesta’s house. In her mind’s eye, she saw the brother who always stood up for her, who corralled father’s worst moods, taking her share of punishments, who made her smile when she felt she couldn’t, but -- _this?_ Sitan...a _rapist_ ? A _traitor_?

“Azriel,” she suddenly commented, her voice a mere whisper. She didn’t bother looking his way to see if he looked at her. “Is Nesta going to be okay? I’m worried about her. She’s not had an easy life. She’s…”

“She will be fine.” His voice was soft, and for once, she was grateful for the inability to read the tone of his words.

“Still, if you don’t mind, I...had things for her, back at the cabin. Contraceptive tea, for her new mate and the urges and muscle relaxants, and...I’d like to make her a tincture, to help her sleep, in case she has...bad dreams. I can tell you the ingredients if you don’t trust me to brew it on my own, I just…” She struggled to finish the words, feeling her heart tear open at what Nesta must be thinking, _feeling_ , after her brother attacked her. She felt the bed creak, Azriel’s form shifting, but she closed her eyes and wiped at her cheeks, brushing off the tears. “I want to make sure she understands that I am _truly_ sorry, for whatever happened. I...don’t want to lose her friendship.”

“I don’t think she blames you, Astra,” Azriel murmured, falling quiet for a time. After several minutes, to the point she almost dozed, he finally replied once more. “I will bring the supplies in the morning. You can tell me what they are before I depart. You will be with Cassian at that point and need to answer his questions. I highly suspect your innocent in his machinations, Astra, but...your brother, I’m afraid, might not be.”

Finally, she looked over at him, catching him once more looking over her form. She saw the brief flicker of his jaw tensing, and she swallowed, ignoring the bloom of arousal that swept over her, making her skin warm and tingly. “If he’s guilty, you’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

His eyes raised and clashed with hers - hard and absolute. “Yes,” he finally replied, not bothering to mince words. She shuddered, and he turned his gaze back to the fire. “Sleep, Astra. We’ll speak more of it in the morning.”

“And what of me?” She whispered, hating how reedy her voice sounded, but she was afraid. If what they said was _true,_ would she be killed also?

Azriel’s head whipped her way, a flicker of possessive fury rippling across his face. Just as fast, it was gone. He grimaced, rubbing a finger between his brows, then looked to the fire again. She held her breath, waiting for his reply.

It took several minutes, but she relaxed all the same, when she heard it. “No one will touch you so long as I am here. You are under my protection.”

That surprised her, but she felt the shadows draw closer, making her shudder and close her eyes, just to not watch them curl and lick at his collar and shoulders. Once more, the whispers started, and this time, she could make out a few words.

 _You are_ **_his_ ** _,_ they said. _You’re going nowhere, pretty thing._

It took a very long time for her to finally fall into a troubled sleep.

* * *

She’d fallen into a soft doze when she suddenly woke, feeling a warm aroused body pressed against her back, a warm surrounding darkness that only meant one thing - Cassian had joined her in the bed, draping them both in his wings until the fire that crackled softly past the cocoon he’d conjured over them warmed the room. “Cassian?”

He didn’t move, his arm loose around her waist, and she smiled even as she felt guilt - he’d fallen asleep beside her, nude as she was, underneath the pile of sheets, not waking her when she’d fallen asleep waiting for him to set the fire in the cabin. She’d enjoyed teasing him, like she had that day she’d kissed him for the first time fully sober, but now - it was different. Now, she no longer panicked at the idea that he wouldn’t mind being with her, terrified of the outcome. This bond, whatever it was, had no room for half-truths or lies. She could sense his purest emotions, hovering openly on his side of the bond, free to her inspection as she drifted down that spiritual tie between the two of them, and felt overwhelmed at the love displayed there. She took her time examining all of it, noting some darkness there, shrouded in anguish and pain, steering clear of it until she talked to him - wanting to know his pains and fears as much as he’d grown to learn hers - but wanted to give him what she’d merely teased about earlier.

She _wanted_ to take him in her mouth, make him feel what he’d done for her when he’d taken her. She wasn’t about to pretend she knew what she was doing, but the way he’d looked at her when she had teased him about it made her want to try.  Turning, she watched him slowly waken, his eyes sleepily opening, staring at her with a banked smile curving his mouth. “Hey, sleepy head. Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No,” she murmured, glancing over him, even as she felt his erection prod her hip. She splayed her hands across his chest, tracing the tattoos that swirled about his pectorals and shoulders and down his biceps, ending at his elbows. “I’m sorry I fell asleep, after I promised…”

“You’ve been through a lot,” he reminded her, his tone flinty, hinting at his own exhaustion, banked arousal, and combination of concern and love for her. His fingers flexed against her hips, even as she felt his emotions surround her side of the bond, stroking her own gently. “Get some sleep, babe. It’s been a long day.”

“No,” she whispered, leaning down to press a kiss against his chest. He tensed, the wings covering them shifting, and she glanced up at him to watch his eyes grow dark and heated, staring down at her, even if he didn’t move. She smiled, using her tongue to trace a path down his stomach, towards the erection that throbbed against her side. He hissed, his abdomen flexing, and she sighed faintly and laid a path of kisses, enjoying the inherent saltiness of his skin and the faint metallic smell he always carried - a loamy, musky scent, not unlike the mountains he was born in.

“You don’t have to do that, babe,” he murmured, but she didn’t miss the groan when her hands reached up, cupping his shaft, his balls, gently stroking the warm turgid length of him. He was large, heavy and thick and warm in her hand, almost too big around for her fingers to trace the whole length of him with one alone. Everything about him screamed _male,_ even the arrogant display of his cock.

He was stunningly beautiful to her in his ruggedness and she wanted to inhale every inch of him.

“I know,” she whispered, “I want to.” He said nothing, rolling further on his back when she pressed him to, and bent over, scooting further down the bed, to thoroughly inspect him. Later on, she might feel embarrassed, but for now - she was so sick of fighting this. She _loved_ him, in the way he had fought so valiantly for her, when he’d found her sobbing on the floor, hadn’t judged her for killing so violently, nor even holding all the horrible things she’d done to him and them both against her, when he no doubt learned of her past when he'd listened to her tell her past to Enar and Astra over dinner. Cassian had never once judged her, like so many others had, only showing his frustration when she wouldn’t let him in. Well, now he was thoroughly part of her, and she wanted to make sure he knew it.

“You’re so...large,” she commented, pleased when his cock bobbed, growing even thicker at her words as she stroked him. Leaning down, she noted the shiny essence of his precum welling at the tip of his cock and opened her mouth, licking it’s traces away. He barked out a choked noise, jolting at the sensation, and she cast him a chiding glare, feeling her cheeks heat as he stared at her with such unfiltered hunger, her womb ached in response. Before he could move, she tilted her head back down and licked him again, this time taking the head inside her mouth, tasting him and seeing how he’d fit. He was a large, warm presence - soft yet sturdy - that required her lips to stretch to take him all the way in, but she did, tracing him with her tongue as she did so. When she came back up for air, she heard his ragged breathing, the hiss of the sheets as he fisted them between his fingers, then grinned and licked him again - tracing the glans with the tip of her tongue, loving the way his hips canted upwards, seeking out her mouth, and the way his abdomen trembled, the muscles bunching and flexing, clearly enjoying what she was doing. “I love the way you taste in my mouth,” she commented, before exploring again.

“ _Fuck,_ Nesta…” Cassian grit out, trembling, and she took him deep again, enjoying the anguished groan that tore from his lips. “Don’t say shit like that, if you want me to last. _Fuck, this is going to kill me_ …”

“You don’t like it when I talk?” She teased, once she pulled back, stroking his now spit-slick cock between her fingers, licking the tip, tasting more of his essence pooling there. He groaned, bucking faintly, muttering an obscenity that made  her chuckle, as she reached down, rolling his balls between her fingers, keeping her touch light. “Should I do this instead?”

Not giving him a chance to reply, she opened her mouth wide and took him as deep as she could go, supplementing her mouth’s inability to grab hold of his cock with her fingers twining tightly around the base of his shaft, rolling them with the deep, suctioning pulls of her mouth. She hadn’t done this, yes, but she’d certainly witnessed it aplenty in some of the bars she frequented back in Velaris.

“ _Fuck, oh fuck,_ that feels - _ah, fuck,_ ” He gasped, and she felt his grip sink into the locks of her hair, his hips canting at an angle, and she realized what he was trying to do. He wanted to thrust into her mouth. Arousal flooded through her, making her ache between her legs, but she did as he asked, and when he began to groan again, an anguished noise escaping his mouth, she hummed softly in pleasure.

“You have...no idea...how much it turns me on...hearing you like my smell and my cock and my taste,” he rasped, groaning again, his thrusts becoming hurried and strained, as she hurriedly complied to his instructions that followed. Hearing the way he was coming apart, his words garbled and ground down to the basics, the way his body violently trembled against her, and the way his cock swelled and tasted, the closer he came to orgasm, made her mewl around his shaft. “ _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ \- suck me harder, babe. _Tighter, deeper, ah fuck,_ **_just like that_ ** _,_ I’m gonna…”

By then, he finally bucked hard, his hips canting forward, his entire body tense and strained, and she could feel his cock swell and flex against her tongue - then he was spurting in thick, creamy pulses in her mouth when he suddenly roared out her name. She pulled back a little, startled and surprised at the sudden orgasm that had him lose all his control, sucking down each burst of his release until he finally sagged against the sheets, limp, his cock still pulsing faintly in her mouth, but clearly relieved of climax. Slowly, she pulled back, brushing kisses against his shaft, watching it stir to life once more.

She glanced at him, feeling him staring at her as she once more licked him to full readiness, waiting for him to tell her to stop. He never did, just brushing her hair out of her face, until she finally moved to suck him again, but he rolled on top of her, positioning himself, then thrust inside in one, tight glide. She gripped his shoulders with her nails, her whole body shuddering at the feeling of him sinking inside - a perfect fit.

“My turn,” he purred, then began to move, finding her mouth and silencing her moans with rough, consuming kisses.

 

* * *

 

“You do realize, my patience isn’t neverending, right?” Josias drawled, as Stian’s body labored against the agonizing sensation of more power bleeding into him, from where the chained  group of Illyrian warriors laid dead at his feet. These were something special to him, this time, making him grin despite the pain, watching the final few siphons slowly gleam under the firelight of the hidden camp he and the Alchemist conducted their studies in. His entire system screamed in agony, but he wouldn’t let it show, panting and straining in the chair he was tied to, until he finally rolled his shoulders, unbuckled the restraints, and stood.

“Where is the female now, Lord Haavik?” The alchemist growled, glaring at him. He ignored him, wiping at the sweat smearing his brow, gathering his thoughts in how to respond. Yes, it’d been foolish of him to try such a thing with her - but the temptation had been more than he could bear. She was _his,_ after all, belonging to the one he hated the most. It had been a perfect thing, he’d thought at the time - break the male’s mate before he broke him, for good. An answer to a pain that had haunted him more than half his life, leaving him scarred - both internally and out - so that finally, he could rest, even if that rest was death.

“I’ll find her,” he commented to the mortal, watching the man frown his way. He knew he was extending his contract with the Alchemist too long, but he needed the foolish man to understand he _had_ to be at a certain power level if he ever hoped to take on Cassian or Azriel, let alone Rhysand or that surprisingly strong bitch the male had mated. “She’ll be yours. I’m strong enough now to take him on. If I hurt him, she’ll come, I bet my life on it.”

“I hope you’re prepared to pay that bet, when the time comes,” the Alchemist warned, making Stian rise to full height, glaring at the man. He merely stared back, an amused smirk on his lips. “Don’t give me that _look_ , soldier. You might be able to kill me, but good luck standing a chance against the Order. They’ll hunt you down, drain you, and make sure you pay for robbing me of my life.”

He snorted, not doubting it, stepping closer. “You seem to think I hold my life in some special regard, Josias. Besides, if your Order was as strong as you say - you wouldn’t _be_ here, would you? Or is this only your curiosity that has you here? How’d your men take _that_ , I wonder?”

Briefly, Josias’ eyes widened, before angry darkened his features. “Get the female, Lord Haavik, by week’s end, or consider this contract null, and I’ll hunt you down myself.”

Stian growled, bristling, not about to take orders from a goddamned _mortal,_ but the man winnowed away before he could reach him. Cursing loudly, he turned, kicking a free log into the fire, before he looked to the bodies down below. “Jeric!” He bellowed, waiting to see the young male - fear briefly turning his eyes a faint shade of sickly brown - as he wandered inside. He sneered at him, pointing at the bodies, then muttered under his breath. “Get rid of them.”

“Yes, sir,” the young male replied, going to unlock the chains around each of the dead bodies, so he could move them alone. Stian studied him, the way he trembled as he moved, but anger and fear seemed to be warring for dominance on his face. “Stop,” he finally commented, curious.

The young male dropped the arm of one of the corpses, that he’d been about to winnow out of the cavern, stiffly turning to Stian as he approached.

“Why’d you join me?” He asked, watching Jeric startle under the question, his eyes widening as they met his own, before looking to the ground. “Did I ask the floor or you, boy? Look at me and answer me,” he spat, watching Jeric struggle and then finally cant his eyes towards him once more.

“I joined you so that you’d overthrow the bastards ruling us, so that our culture and laws could continue unbroken, as they have for centuries. So we’d be stronger, when faced with --” Stian waved a hand, ending the young male’s tirade.

“So, you’re jealous of your father, and of General Cassian,” he commented, watching Jeric’s face suffuse with humiliation. He chuckled at the sight. “You’re never going to be a strong soldier, but you’re hoping I’ll put you in some sort of position when I win, so you can remind everyone you’re powerful.”

Jeric said nothing, but he could sense the truth to his words, as the young male’s nostrils flared in response. “You’re weak, the very essence of what I hate in a male, but--your secret is safe with me, young Lord Agnor, son of Worolf. I need docile men like you, if I’m to win.”

Jeric trembled, fury turning his face a mottled shade of red, but the longer Stian stared at him, the more fear bent him to lower his head with a nod, reaching for the dead corpse at his feet once more. “When you’re done,” he added, as the young male hoisted it against him, turning to look his way, making him smile with malice, “ready the others. We’re going to storm a few villages, then draw them here. I might even be _nice_ and show you how to channel more power.”

Jeric blinked, his eyes going wide, glancing around the copse of dead bodies. “But I thought the mortal didn’t teach you how--”

“He didn’t,” Stian commented, glancing around at the marks decorating the bodies, the state they were in, before he met Jeric’s eyes. “But I’m not as dumb as I play to be, boy.”

When Jeric said nothing, her gave him a dark stare, flashing his teeth. “ _Go._ Get rid of these things. _Now.”_

Jeric winnowed out of the cavern, allowing Stian to lean back with a smile. _Everything was going according to plan._


	25. Chapter 25

“Cassian…”

He jolted awake, crushing her to him, his wings going as tense as the rest of him as he reached for the blade he’d left by the bedside. Suddenly, he recognized his surroundings, relaxing slowly, looking down at Nesta who’s cheek was buried against the center of his chest, her body splayed tightly against his own. His nightmares had been intense tonight - the first he’d had in decades - and he must have woke her with them. He usually never slept with anyone else in the bed with him for this reason, but -- she was his mate. By the look on her face, she had seen his movements, heard his mutterings, felt the ragged emotions on his side of the bond. What surprised him is the confusion, she hadn’t tried prodding those emotions she must have felt, choosing to wake him instead and respecting his boundaries. For some reason, the notion touched him deeply and he pressed a quick kiss to her lips to show his gratitude. Still, he knew she’d have questions - who wouldn’t after whatever she’d probably witnessed?

“Fuck, sorry,” he started, rubbing at his face and releasing her, rolling into a sitting position, scrubbing a hand across his jaw and drawing his wings up tight. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t sleeping anyways,” she murmured, drawing his gaze back her way. She sat up too, pressing another quick kiss to his shoulder, and he marveled at the thawed look of love he saw in her eyes. He’d never get used to that - seeing the unmasked expression on her face, the concern and love shimmering in her eyes. He’d dreamed of this very thing, for _years_ , even before he’d met her. A mate that loved him unconditionally, without reservation, and now he had it. It humbled him. Unable to help it, he pressed another kiss to her lips. Then another, and a third, until she tiredly pushed him away with a chuckle. “What were they about? I have them, too. It’s why I’m still awake.”

He blinked, raising both his eyebrows, even if he couldn’t keep his hands to himself, pulling her into his lap, tucking her hair behind her ears. She’d begun to be so open around him and he couldn’t help it, using any excuse he could to draw her close and keep touching her. It troubled him to learn of her nightmares, but then -- having heard about her past -- it didn’t surprise him. Still, by the look on his face, she must have assumed it did.

“What?” She asked, amused, even if her voice hinted at her exhaustion. He pressed a quick kiss to her nose and tilted her head back using the palm of his hand, watching as her eyes raised to meet his.

“You have nightmares, too? What of?” He asked, curious what they were about. Almost immediately, he felt stupid for asking, feeling her slightly stiffen against him,her eyes going dark for a moment, then nodded. _She’s been attacked - most recently tonight. She was forced into the Cauldron, you dumbass. Of course she does. You know what they’re about, too. What else would they be about?_ “Sorry, dumb question,” he murmured, frowning at the sudden paleness in her features, but she smiled faintly in return, even if the action didn’t fully meet her eyes.

“It’s not a stupid question, Cassian,” she murmured, pressing another kiss to his lips. He tilted his head and sighed, closing his eyes and tugging her closer, dragging the action out - kissing her in deep, slow movements. It left him breathless, his heart pounding in a static, thready rhythm against his ribs, but he didn’t care. She tasted _perfect -_ she tasted like she was _his._

“Cassian,” she chuckled, pulling back, but he wasn’t done, lowering his mouth to nibble at her throat. “You wore me out earlier, we’ve barely slept, you’ve still got to tell me what’s going on, and I really am curious what you were dreaming about. You’ve got to stop.”

“Not yet,” he pleaded with a whisper, reaching up to cup her cheek, bringing her head back forward, to meet his gaze. He stared at her, shaking his head slowly as he marveled once more at her, watching a blush ripen her cheeks to a faint pink, knowing she must have sensed his emotions on the other side of the bond. “You’re mine. I can’t believe you’re _mine._ ”

“I’m yours, and you’re mine,” she murmured - the bonding statement he’d hoarsely taught her between bouts of lovemaking that first night - leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to his mouth. He shuddered at hearing those words, shaking his head again as he pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and washing himself in her emotions he felt on her side of the bond.

“Took you long enough to accept them,” he teased, grunting faintly when he felt her elbow smack into his ribs. He chuckled, going silent when he heard her start to talk.

“Mine are of Thomas,” she suddenly whispered. “And the Cauldron. And the time in...Velaris. But mostly -- mostly the Cauldron.” She shuddered violently and he crushed her to him, pressing her cheek to his chest, feeling her heartbeat thundering loudly against his ribs, and he did everything in his power to calm her, feeling her arms wrap around his waist. “It was -- what I imagine hell would feel like. No, worse than hell. Worse than Thomas, or Velaris, or when my mother would…”

“Tote you in front of those men,” he murmured, his reply a mere growl, his wings folding forward, joining his arms, in wrapping themselves around her. “I wish I’d known you then. I’d have protected you.”

She smiled - he could feel it in the way her lips and cheek moved against his chest. “So, you did hear what I told them at dinner. When did you get there?”

He shrugged a shoulder, not about to apologize for it. “Right when it started. I almost went in, then you started to talk and I...couldn’t. I needed to hear it.”

She nodded, and he relaxed. “The Cauldron knew of those times, the times I felt most weak, and how much I hated it. I swear, it felt like it... _fed_ on that. It made me so angry, I…”

“Took part of it in retaliation,” he commented again for her, feeling pride swell in regards to her strength. Once more, she astounded him. This was a woman who’d faced a horrible life and survived, forged herself into something stronger; considered a callous, cruel thing by most - but he _knew_ her, knew what that kind of life was like and what it forced you to become. He loved her so much, it still terrified him, and he clutched her tighter, not able to imagine his life without her in it. He knew now, what drove some males to madness when they lost their mate.

As if sensing his sudden panic, the manic beat of his heart, she splayed a hand against his chest and slowly tilted her head back, meeting his eyes. He felt her brush against the bond, calling to him, and he tried to listen to the words she spoke there. _It’s alright, Cassian. I’m not going anywhere. I survived the Cauldron, it takes a lot to kill me._

That comment in his head made him suddenly laugh and she smiled at the response she wrung out of him, tipping her head up to brush her lips against his own, until she coaxed a gentle kiss from him in return. They were both worn to the bone, from lack of sleep, from hours of exploring each other carnally until he knew her body better than his own and she his, but still - this was almost as sacred as what they’d shared earlier, if not more so. He could _feel_ her love in the bond, the deep hidden wells of it, that she’d only recently allowed him to see and explore - and it humbled him. He was putty in her arms, and she knew it, but didn’t cruelly taunt it to him. Instead, she cherished that devotion, just gently coaxing a few more kisses from him, until his panicked heartbeat calmed. Trying to summarize how he felt was impossible.

“You’re a damned scary creature when you put your mind to it, love,” he simply told her in the end.

She smiled again, tilting her head back, to meet his gaze. “I tried to scare _you_ off _,_ as it were, and look where that got me.”

“Oh, I’m scared to death of you, Nesta Archeron. I just wanted to fuck you more than I cared about dying,” he grinned back, making her snort and roll her eyes, tucking her head back against his chest. He rested the top of his head against hers for a while, staring into the fire across the room. Finally, after several minutes, he heard the question he knew was coming.

“Tell me about them?” She finally murmured against his chest, curling against him when he dragged her back down into the bed, under the covers, against his side. He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“They’re always the same,” he murmured, cradling her close, gently running his hands over her body, across her breasts, down the flare of her hips, as he recanted the nightmare he’d just been pulled from. “My mother --” He paused suddenly, the pain he felt when he thought of her always sharp, agonizing, surprising him even now that it felt so badly to discuss her - but it faded when he felt Nesta stir, gently pressing a kiss to his throat, and he started again. “I came back to see her, from the war camp they’d moved me to at an early age, but--she wasn’t there. I couldn’t find her, and I searched...everywhere. The men--finally, laughing, told me where to find her. In the woods, by the…”

Nesta stilled at his side, as if she suddenly realized where this story was going, but he couldn’t stop now. He kept going, feeling her soft emotions well up on her side of the bond, flooding his head, her hands stroking his chest, but he forced himself to finish. “...mountain Ramiel...under six feet of soil.”

“How old were you?” She whispered, the question feather-soft, but he heard it as loud as a trumpet horn. He went rigid, but her hands rested on his chest once more, gently stroking a soothing rhythm into his flesh, and he calmed.

“Eight...maybe nine seasons. I don’t know the exact age, just that--I was young,” he finally muttered, his voice hoarse, and embarrassment almost flickered through him at how weak he sounded, but she pressed a kiss against his shoulder, and he shuddered, allowing the pain to flare. He wouldn’t hide how it made him feel - not with her. She’d shown him her worst, weakest moments - he would honor that with showing his own.

“So I went, and I dug for hours. Only, she wasn’t there. I went back, week after week, even when I was beat daily during training - for being one of the smaller boys, for being a bastard, for being too stubborn to give up - hell if I know the reason for them, but I kept going back...trying to--to find her. I never did. That’s what my nightmares are. Trying to find her, remember her, see her face--but I never do.”

“My god,” Nesta whispered, tugging his face down to her breast, holding him tightly there. He shuddered, hating the sensation of how weak and helpless he felt when the men of his home village had taunted him - _“Bastard boy, lost his mother; she’s buried here, but you’ll never find her!” -_ and the unending rage he’d felt shortly after, even as a boy, until he came back as a man, and destroyed everything they’d ever had, burning that entire village she called _‘home’_ to the ground and slaughtered those who’d had a hand in her death - but he’d never been able to find her. Even as they died, they wouldn’t give up her burial spot, and it shamed him to see the hatred in their eyes as they died - like they somehow saw, through the acts of vengeance he’d rained down on them, that they’d been _justified_ to hate him.

His mother--the only thing in his life he remembered being kind to him--had been dragged into the streets finally one season when he was away, forced to admit to her crimes, speak of the Sire that fathered her child, only --she didn’t. Because she didn’t, she’d died, _alone and in great pain,_ while he was away, thrust into one of the war camps down South, and only after a particularly rough winter, after Rhysand had found him and Azriel had come to stay with him, his friend able to temper his worst moods from those shadows that - even then - clung to him, had he learned of her fate. If it wasn’t for Rhysand and Azriel, he’d have probably died a young man when he’d attempted to leave Rhysand’s cabin and take on the bastards who’d done that to her, so angry and hurt and betrayed by his own people, he screamed so loud that he’d ripped part of his vocal chords out that winter. It’s why, even now, his voice was slightly husky, abrasive to others.

“Cassian, who was she? What...happened to her?”

He glanced over at Nesta, seeing her blue-grey eyes stare back into his with concern, the corners of her mouth tugged down, and he leaned over, brushing a kiss briefly against her lips, trying to settle her worries. This part of the tale, at least, didn’t haunt him as much. Not as much as the nightmares about her body and the fact he couldn’t seem to find her - his own personal curse. “Her name was Ella. She was a laundress, of low birth, and...a whore. At least, that’s what they call females in my society that have a child out of wedlock. I was thrust in a war camp at a young age and she stayed in her village to work. Eventually, as I grew in power in the war camps, embarrassing the elders as I outpaced their own progenies, they pushed her to admit who the father was. She wouldn’t because she claimed she loved him and his clan would suffer if she claimed his heritage. It angered the nearby villages, because that had to mean I was the offspring of a chieftain, but none laid claim to me, and she was known by all in the Northern remote villages. They...killed her for it. Burned her at the stake. Her bones...I’ve never been able to find where they buried her. Even when I went back and killed the men that did it. I never found them. I don’t even remember what she looks like, just her voice. She had the sweetest voice - kind, unassuming, patient. They murdered her because she laid with a male out of matrimony and bore _me.”_

Tears freely slipped past Nesta’s eyelids when his head tilted, taking in her reaction, even as he swept the pain he felt to the back of his mind, shutting off his own response, watching her eyes blink, a far away look in her eyes, as she brought a hand to her mouth - to hold back bile, to stifle a sob, he couldn’t tell. She turned, looking at him, reaching out with that same hand to stroke his cheek, shake her head as dismay tugged at her lips, then suddenly turn, tugging his face against her shoulder as she encompassed him in a gripping hug.

He stilled, then returned the gesture, cradling her shoulders and waist in a tight hug, hearing her muffled cries against his ear. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, pressing a kiss beneath his ear, and he shuddered, closing his eyes and tugging her closer, using his wings to hold her impossibly tighter.

 _I know you are, love. It was a long time ago,_ he countered down the bond, not trusting his voice, as the well of memories threatened to make his own eyes cloud over with tears.

_It doesn’t make what you suffered any less horrific or devastating, Cassian. I’m sorry for you, for your mother, for...any woman who has ever faced something like that._

He stroked his fingers down the length of her spine, in awe of the pain he could feel on her side of the bond - for him, for a woman she never knew - until she eventually regained her calm and wiping at her cheeks, tucking her face closer, burying in against his neck. “That’s...why you want the women to learn to fight, isn’t it? The _real_ reason?”

“Yes,” he murmured, tilting his head, resting his cheek against the crown of her head. She softened, pressing a kiss against his throat. “So there’s no more need of women like you or my mother. If you have to, you can fight back.”

“I’ve been taking contraceptive tea, ever since…” She blurted out, tensing, as if worried he’d disagree on her choice to wait to have children, but he smiled, putting her at ease as he trailed his fingers down her spine and against her hips, feeling her slowly relax against his side. “I don’t want you thinking I don’t want…” She further supplied, stuttering past the next few words with enough anxiety he would have chuckled, if he didn’t think she’d leap from the bed and beat him senseless for it, but he could tell it was important to her, and kept quiet, letting her finish. “--but, given the timing, training, and your--other obligations with Night, we hadn’t had time to talk, and, so I thought it best to make the choice of--”

“I approve,” he murmured, cutting her off, bringing her hand up, kissing her knuckles. “Right now, with things being the way they are, it’s best we wait. I’m glad _one_ of us has their heads in the right place. It should’ve been me to supply it, but I was...preoccupied.” He smiled at the faint tremble that went through her frame, and the saturated feeling of desire that stirred suddenly on her end of the bond.  

“I’ll need it from the old cabin,” she murmured, the urge calming, nearly disappointing him in his opportunity to steer things towards a more pleasurable route, but he enjoyed this new side to their mating -- the companionship and talk. “Along with the books Elain got me, if I’m to be here alone with Astra, and few of my other things, if that’s alright.”

“I’ll make sure Enar takes care of it in the morning.” He murmured, tracing her body once more, feeling his own urges stirring again “Make a list, love, and I’ll make sure it’s taken care of. I’ll have the other women moved here as well. That’s what this place was built for, actually. A haven of sorts, so women like you can train in peace...away from rut-manic males...like me…” He growled softly, turning her to nip at her collar bones, once his hands had her spread out across the bed. He watched her smile, then shudder, and he reached up, palming her breasts until her nipples peaked against the glittering light of the fire. _Cauldron, but she’s gorgeous,_ his thoughts rippled across his consciousness, leaning down to take one into his mouth. He wanted her already, his cock growing hard. She slowly opened her eyes, noting his rapt attention towards her breasts, and ducked away just as he would have taken one in his mouth. He gave her a mock scowl, enjoying her level-headed stare in return, but soon gave into her silent admonishment and just pulled her to him, hoping eventually she’d tire of his erection grinding into her hip and allow him to once more satisfy both of them by burying in her _deep._

“You said _‘with things they way they are._ ’ What _things_ , Cassian? Don’t tell me it’s just Illryians upset their women are taking up arms, because it’s more than that. Why was that death note left in your door?” She asked, her voice slightly firmer, as her gaze met his own, the spell of closeness and promised sex fading.

He went rigid, intending to roll out of bed, away from her, irritated that she meant to ask him such things, or that she even had to know about them in the first place - _Doesn’t she know I’ll always protect her? That she doesn’t need to worry about such things? -_ but she stopped him by rolling atop him, straddling him, making him hiss and arch up when her warm sex pressed against his balls. By the studied smirk on her face, she knew what she was doing, and he both admired and hated that fact. He reached for her, but she gripped his wrists and held them against the sheets. Despite his superior strength giving him the innate advantage, he allowed it, but not so much  that he held back from flexing his wings, flaring them wide, allowing his hips to arch up just enough to press slightly closer to her own. She narrowed her gaze, even as a faint shudder rolled down her body, her knees dangling on either side, _so close..._

“ _Tell me_ .” She  asked again, her grey-blue eyes flashing faintly, as she steadily met his own. Eventually, she released his wrists sitting up sharply, naked and proud - a warrioress if he ever saw one - and suddenly gripped his cock in one hand, slowly running her fingers against the skin there, using her fingertips to trace the sensitive areas she’d found earlier with her tongue. “If you plan to be inside me any time soon, _tell me, Cassian_. What does Astra’s brother have to do with this? You called him a traitor. Why?”

“Nesta,” he started, rocking his hips forward, reaching for her, groaning faintly as she gripped his cock hard, pumping with enough force he lost his concentration, lost in the moment, and settled back down, panting raggedly. _Fuck._ He lifted his head, his jaw flexing, irritated she knew just what to do to send him dangerously close to the edge, not enjoying the little smirk that stretched further on her lips. When he tried reaching for her again, she remained firm, pressing a hard fist against his chest, until her eyes met his, a glimmer of the old Nesta once more there - strong, hard as stone, unflinchingly staring him down.

“There’s been distension in the villages, ever since the war,” he murmured, shrugging a shoulder, his eyes sliding down her body, blatantly staring at her breasts and the gentle curve of her hips, before raising to meet her face once more. “They blame me, Azriel and especially Rhysand for so many dying at the hand of the Cauldron’s magic. When I pushed for female fighters, especially those of child bearing age, since we’d lost so many down south, they didn’t take it well. Several villages have experienced losses to their young warriors. They’ve been leaving, abandoning Illyria, their bannermen, claiming independence. I think Astra’s brother is instigating it all.”

Nesta blinked, her eyebrows raising, as she absorbed what he said, but her hand never left his cock, leaving him bereft and on edge. When he sat up, intending to grab her, roll her underneath him, her grip went firm once more and he swore, falling back against the sheets, until he was a quivering mess of pure need.

“You think Stian is the leader? How?”

He panted, shrugging faintly. “The rumors match his whereabouts, his background, what he’s been doing. Hell, I always knew they didn’t care for me or Az, being bastards, but to go against Rhys is suicide. They’re just shook up, is all, but...we recently found they allied with the Alchemists.” He watched Nesta go rigid, that fierce infamous ice sculpture expression of hers sliding over her features, as her grip eased on him. He sighed, his mood deflated, knocking his head back against the sheets, staring at the ceiling. By her stunned silence, he realized she knew of the Alchemists, and he wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or upset at that fact. “So, you _have_ been paying attention to some of what Feyre said before we went up here, I see. You know what they are.”

“I know they harmed High Lady Spring, that they’re the reason Azriel couldn’t penetrate the Mortal Queen’s castles, but-- _here? Why?”_ She asked, her head tilting to the side, eyes looking vacantly across the room, then suddenly glancing his way, her eyes alight with some crucial piece of knowledge. He realized she must have figured out what he realized about Stian’s power.

“They’re granting him power, aren’t they?” She whispered, that ice mask shattering, her eyes widening as she looked over his form. “So he can...fight you. You…” She shuddered, tracing her fingertips over his skin, where his siphons usually rested. “...take so many. You’re so strong. If he stood a chance to take you down, he’d need that power.”

 _That_ statement shocked him, making him jolt. He turned over Nesta’s comment in his head, realizing the validity of it. Why hadn’t he seen it before? He opened his mouth to question her further about her experiences with him - what was he like? What did the power do? Why didn’t he use them when attacking her? How did it work? What did he _say_ in her presence that may hint about his plans?

Before he could do any of this, Nesta slammed a balled fist against his chest, making him grunt in surprise. His eyes jerked up, clashing with hers, and he was surprised at the storminess present there - the wild-eyed look of a woman near panicked desperation. “You can’t take him on, Cassian, he could _kill_ you. He was...so _strong_...I…”

Instantly, he bristled, gripping her wrists before they could once more pommel him, pulling her flush against him and using his superior strength to rotate them in the bed, pressing her underneath him. “I’m the General of Cassian’s armies, babe. It’s part of my duty, to protect the Night Court from people like him. I’ve got to take him down, before he tears my country apart.”

“ _Let someone else do it!_ ” She hissed, furious and bucking underneath him, then suddenly losing her strength, a faint sob tearing at her mouth. “He could _kill_ you.”

While he loved the worry that seemed to scream from every pore in her body, his immediate reaction was anger. He was a warrior - the _best_ warrior Illyria could offer - he was duty bound to finish this.  “He’s certainly welcome to try, babe, but if anyone’s dying, it’ll be him. I swear it.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” She whispered softly, her voice filled with pain, but then brought her mouth to his, once more spurred into reaching for the one thing they never fought on - the pure, blissful ecstasy that formed when their bodies joined.

He groaned and followed suit, thrusting home and beginning to move.

 

* * *

 

The village was on fire, a whirl of brightness against the dark cover of night. Women and children were screaming, making their way into the woods, where they met _his_ men, and were ushered into shackles. He directed the warriors to dump the children and faithful women on the doorsteps of weakened war camps, but the others - the ones like _her_ and _his father_ \- were to be brought back to the caverns and drained. Tonight, they all wore the same face, and he was relishing the terror-stricken expression on their faces, as if he could relive that one day over and over again. The day he’d shown his anger at his father, at his _lies,_ at the pain he made him live through each and every day.

“ _Cauldron Above,_ when the rumors swirled, when Lord Rhysand and Chieftan Worolf spoke to me, I thought it couldn’t be true. _‘No way,’_ I’d told them. _‘No way could that be my son. He’s a disappointment, yes, but a traitor? No.’_ Now...what madness is this?! Stian! How _could_ you?!”

Stian turned, looking to where Jeric and another stood by, with the warchief in chains, kneeling on stone, his knees bleeding at the contact. He grinned, flashing his father a savage smile, then dismissed the two, using that newfound power of his to hold the chains in place against the ground.

“Go, ready the others,” he told Jeric, glancing towards the young male, studying his face. He could smell the fear on him - for him, for the savagery he was witnessing - but he was smart enough to keep it from showing in his face. Jeric nodded, glancing briefly those being brought back to the caverns, his eyes meeting Stian’s. He smiled, watching the younger male swallow, hesitation making his steps shallow and slow, enough so that he stepped forward, watching the wayward son of Worolf bristle and still completely, pressing his mouth close to the man’s ear. He was curious to see how strong his hold on his fear was - and to test his loyalty and hunger for power. “Go, pick the ones you want best, and we’ll do as I promised earlier.”

Suddenly, Jeric’s eyes hardened as they met his own, making Stian smile when he recognized the change in the young male. _You and I are not so different, though perhaps anger fueled me more and outweighed my fears,_ watching the young male bid his exit and march towards the others with intent. Stian barely held in a laugh, knowing the source of that swagger that spontaneously fueled the young male’s steps.

“Jeric was a good son, what nonsense have you filled his head with?” Barked Matthias Haavik, warchief of Lofoten, and his father, from behind him, as they both watched Jeric bark orders to other, less fortuitous members of his rebellion, and take charge like Stian had guessed he would when promised more power in the hours to come. He had yet to decide if he’d truly give it to the boy, but the result was the same - the male moved the remaining villagers like he wanted of what was left of his home. He enjoyed watching it burn - this entire place was built on lies and deceit and unending pain.

Turning back to his father, he chuckled at the older man’s attempts at trying to break free of the bonds, using that power he now held to draw them tighter. His father noted his strength, his black eyes narrowing even as he stilled, tilting his head up.

“You stink of that mortal’s black magic,” his father growled, spitting in his face. “ _Why,_ damn you? Why are you doing this?!”

“ _You know why, father,_ ” he hissed, reaching down and gripping his father’s locks, dragging him painfully by the scalp until he was inches from his face, pointing with his free hand to the scar that marred the left side of his face. Matthias’ eyes flickered to the long-healed wound, his eyes narrowing, even as his jaws flexed against the pain he was causing. “To pay you back for this. I’m going to take the second most precious thing to you - _your precious bastard boy_.”

Immediate, agonizing pain flickered across Matthias’ face. Stian stared, satisfied with the shock that flickered across his father's face, as well as the pain, the torture at knowing she'd died because of _him_. “It was _you_ who told the elders about her, wasn’t it?”

He said nothing, merely stared, even if that black hole inside his chest howled with victory. Matthias suddenly looked haggard, old, and tired, sagging against Stian’s grip. He wanted to throw him on the ground, raise his fists like _he_ did the first time he saw them, and punch and kick until his father understood what it was like - to be _unwanted_ and _in the way,_ despite being the _legitimate son_ , his _progeny,_ when all his father wanted was that _whore_ that insulted his mother, his sister, his own blood when he learned what she carried.

“Cauldron Above, you _knew._ You _knew_ what they’d do to her,” Matthias sagged weakly, tears suddenly flooding his eyes. Staring at the utter devastation on his father’s face made him almost physically ill. He never showed that kind of emotion towards him, his own mother or sister, not once in all their life - but he’d shed them for _her?_ The whore that bore that bastard breed? "Why?"

" ** _Why?_** " He roared, his grip turning tight, as that power he now held rippled through him. "You beat me daily, would have beat Astra if I hadn't stopped it, or even mother - but not _her._ You doted on her, like some love-struck pup, while I could barely stand, and you ask me _why?_ And when she bore you a son, you were so bloody _happy,_ when I was in the other room, struggling not to spit up blood from the bruised and broken ribs, _your own legitimate son_ , and you have the _audacity_  now to act like you don't know why I did it? You're more pathetic than I thought, Daddy Dearest."

"She was innocent," Matthias gasped, shaking his head, even as his dark eyes turned bleak, shame hollowing his features. "She was my... _mate_."

"And yet that makes everything you did suddenly excusable?" Stian sneered, kneeling down, staring with all the hatred he felt in his soul at his father, hating to even call him kin in that moment. "It would make sense your mate turned out to be a fucking laundress of low birth, like your own sorry excuse for a soul. I told the other elders about her because I _wanted_ her to die. I wanted her to die in front of you, knowing you'd be too cowardly to claim her like a proper male, because you'd have lost your hold on the village. I _enjoyed_ the way it killed a part of your soul to watch her burn up there, like the whore she was. I'd have killed that runt of a bastard, too, if he hadn't been taken in by Lady Night and her little brat but now...I finally stand a chance to finish what I started all those years ago."

“He’s your _brother_ , Stian,” Matthias pleaded, but he’d heard enough, roaring suddenly, not caring if they were alone or not, pounding down with his fist so hard - using that power the Alchemist supplied with his own, hearing it crackle with satisfaction - and burying it _deep._

Matthias’ eyes met his own, widening, then going still and vacant. Panting, he tugged back, his grip feeling slippery, even if he held tight and _ripped,_ grunting with the effort it took to tear the heart from his father’s chest, feeling the blood seeping from between his fingers as he watched his father's corpse suddenly roll to the side, a mere shell, his soul sucked in by Stian's power, adding it to the rest that fueled his vengeance, pouring like liquid fire through his veins. If the others saw, they said nothing; if others screamed, he didn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear _anything,_ just the satisfied thump of his own heartbeat, as he tossed that worthless bit of flesh his father called his heart on the ground.

Spreading his wings, he took flight, heading towards the caverns. Tomorrow, he’d have enough power - and tomorrow, he’d kill the brother his father always admired from afar, wishing he’d been his _true son_.

Tomorrow, Cassian was going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still can't believe no one caught this, but -- the whole truth is out. I'm sure you know what that makes Astra, then. ;o)


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super **dark** chapter to follow. Gentle reminder this is an E-rated fic for reasons other than hot sex.

“What the fuck did you sign us up for? What was that, Jeric? _ Cauldron Above _ , how is  _ this madness  _ any different than what we endured below the wall? This is what we left home for? This is what you convinced us was a  _ better tomorrow _ ?  _ Orphaning children? Raping wives? Destroying villages? Fuck - _ what are you doing with the warriors you and Stian put in shackles? This is --”

_ “ **Silence!** ”  _ Jeric yelled, whirling and raising his blade, sending it slicing through the air until it embedded deeply in the rocky wall of the stone cavern they were standing in, the hiss of steel and clang of metal catching and cutting on rock silencing the tirade behind him.

Divos fell quiet, his dark eyes clashing with Jeric’s own, even as Zaruk watched from a few feet away. Lately, he’d fallen quiet, his eyes too sharp, setting Jeric’s instincts on alert. He glanced between the two of them, laughing sharply enough, it echoed with pointed cruelty against the stone-walled enclosure of the tunnel they stood in, not unlike how Stian would sound when he told them what glory laid ahead for them all. Jeric knew he was at a precipice; stuck on the razor edge of a cliffside he was bearing down on and had no choice now but to jump and see where he landed. There  _ was _ no going back, not anymore, not that he wanted that well-traveled road. This was their only option, _his_ only option, and he was ready for more, no matter how many he had to mow down to get there. If they could weather Stian’s rougher plans, if Stian could teach him how he gained that power from the older soldiers that the alchemist had imbued him with, then _maybe_ \--

“I will _not_ be quiet! Not now, not after what happened tonight! That was nothing short of mass murder, Jeric. This is fucking  _ crazy _ . Whatever High Lord Rhysand or General Cassian did, it wasn’t pitting us on our  _ own fucking people! _  I’ll have  _ no part _ in this madness, _ not anymore.  _ Tomorrow, I’ll--” 

Fueled by sudden rage, seeing no way to silence Divos except through the next course of action he completed on near instinct, Jeric lashed out, his wings flaring, launching himself across the cavern towards the other man, loosening a dagger at his hip, arcing it upwards savagely with a flick of his wrist. Immediately, Divos’ litany of disgust and shock was cut off, replaced with the wet, gurgling sounds of a man struggling to breathe through a slit throat.

“Why couldn’t you just _shut up_?” Jeric hissed, burying the knife deep, feeling the sickening jolt as the tip of his blade hit hard bone - Divos’ spine. _Everything is out of control, why couldn't he just listen to me and stop, it's his fault he's dying now, the stupid cow, if only he'd **listened** to me, I wouldn't have had to do this. _ “All you had to do was follow orders. Just follow your fucking orders, and we could’ve been  _ Kings.” _

At this point, he wasn’t sure who he was was talking to anymore, Divos or himself. Briefly, for the faintest of moments, Divos' face transformed into a memory from the past - Lief, his brother, staring at him with shame and pity in his eyes. Roaring, he drove the dagger deeper, until all he saw was Divos' dead, uneven gaze. Still, it didn't help - he was still staring into the face of a male he killed. He wasn't sure why he wasn't retching, wasn't someone supposed to retch after they killed a man? Why did he feel so.... _happy?_

_You're finally free. Almost totally free, nothing holding you back, you can be whatever you want to be, you just have to..._

Suddenly, Jeric snapped out of his reverie when a shift of rocks from where the other in their group shifted a few feet away, the sound dragging him out of his thoughts, dragging that glee-filled darkness away until he was left staring at the scene he'd caused from his witness’s eyes. Zaruk sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes wide, as he staggered back, staring at Jeric like he was a monster. Jeric turned, tugging loose the dagger from Divos’ throat, feeling the sticky thickness of blood coating his fingers as he brought the blade close.

“Well, Zaruk? What do you have to say? Will you follow your orders or do you wish to join Divos?”

Zaruk stared, his eyes flickering between the blade and his impassive face. The longer he stared, not answering Jeric’s question, the more Jeric’s past came back to haunt him. The thing that always bothered him about Zaruk’s constant friendship was the ghost that linked them - his younger brother, the brother that had taken _his_ place in the war below, when his father deemed him a better warrior than Jeric, and then subsequently died by the Cauldron’s powers. It was no hidden secret in Worolf’s home that, whether or not the old man would say it out loud, that he wished it had been Jeric and not him that had died that day. He could sense it, in the way his father’s eyes narrowed into tight-slitted beads of anger whenever he was near. Zaruk had come back from that war and had oddly sought him out, over and over. Whenever Jeric pushed him for why, he realized then he didn’t need to ask - his brother had asked it of Zaruk. For Lief, he'd endured the younger man, but only for him. Now, he wondered why he even had bothered, by the look on his face, he'd never understand.

Now, watching the horror slowly settle in Zaruk’s features, he realized he didn’t want to hear Zaruk’s reply, he just wanted to cut him like Divos. He was just another link to the past he wanted to sever connections from. Still, the more Zaruk stared, the more he thought of his brother and how disappointed he'd be. Gritting his teeth, panting, feeling a foreign glimmer of something between his ribs, something akin to a sensation he hadn’t felt in years -  _ remorse  _ \- he roared against it and raised the dagger, launching himself at his brother’s former friend. 

_ He’s only here because of Lief. He doesn’t give a shit about you. Hells, your own father doesn’t give a shit about you, why would he? Kill him, wipe him off the face of Prythian, learn what Stian can teach you, until everyone knows you’re  _ **_not_ ** _ a failure and you are something to be feared. _

Zaruk seemed to sense what had shifted in Jeric and almost immediately, he was gone, his wings flapping, turning sharply and flying down a narrow set of caverns. Jeric grinned, launching himself after his supposed friend -  _ Not a friend, just a reminder of the past you need to cut away from if you’re to become what you want to be -  _ hoping Zaruk realized the warding against winnowing extended deep into these caverns, deeper than his  _ ‘friend’  _ realized. Jeric knew, of course, he’d taken the time to explore over the past few nights. It’s why, he thought, that Stian had opened to him. There was nothing that slipped past that male - he knew what Jeric wanted, he’d said so himself. So, now, he chased a remnant of his past, wanting to bury it - _for good._

 

* * *

Zaruk panted, struggling to remain quiet, as he hid underneath a cropping of boulders that had long since tumbled from the ceiling, crouching low and searching for a weapon, trying to keep quiet as best he could.

Seeing the shift in Jeric pained him, but as soon as Jeric had taken Divos’ life - he’d lost him. He’d promised Lief, like so many had when they saw their fellow clansmen dying on that mortal stretch of land, to watch out for him. Jeric had a rough life, always belittled, and Lief had warned him of a darkness Jeric had and constantly struggled with, but Zaruk hadn’t seen it until after his friend had died. After that, when Worolf let it be known through action if not word that Jeric was the brunt of his anger and frustrations - large amounts of that something even Jeric couldn’t have controlled, if Zaruk’s witnessing of it had anything to say about it - and it had shaped his former best friend’s brother into something cruel, dangerous, and unstable. 

Even now, he remembered Lief’s words.  _ “There’s a darkness in him. Help him, Zaruk. Help him or  _ **_stop him._ ** _ Don’t let my family suffer if Jeric can’t control it.”  _

He hoped that the little boy he’d run across had gotten word to General Cassian what he’d documented since coming here. Whatever Stian, or Jeric, or anyone following their madness was employing and planning - it would not better Illyria, it would destroy it and expose them to worse monsters than their own inner demons. The robed man he’d seen working alongside Stian left a bitter aftertaste in the back of his mouth - the taste of fear and death.  _ They must be stopped. _

Brushing his fingers along the ground, he felt something smooth and round and frowned, picking it up and bringing it up to his face. It was a dark, flat stone - smooth but with a small residue of magic. Not understanding what it was, he put it in his pocket, thinking later when he wasn’t being chased he could discern what it was and use it, but when he heard Jeric round the corner, he creeped back on all fours, desperately trying to find something -  _ anything  _ \- that would help him escape. He didn’t know if he had the capacity to kill Lief’s brother, no matter how mad he’d become, how deep he’d given into the darkness, but he  _ could  _ escape and warn the others, tell them of Stian and Jeric's madness and that, especially after tonight, they had to stop them -  _ now.  _

Jeric was still far enough away he felt confident enough to brush his fingers along the floor, scraping for another weapon. A sharp-edged rock, a clump of hardened tree root - he wasn’t picky - but what he found made him immediately freeze.

It was a hand, curled into a loose fist, slightly rough -  _ dried and frozen,  _ **_dead_ ** _.  _ Slowly, he turned his head, and stared into the decaying face of the male the boy had been looking for - Torin, step-father to Hammund, the brave child that had sought out the male that was supposed to be protecting him once his father died against males like Stian, not join them. He’d asked around, figured out what the male had looked like, and nearly retched the longer he stared, sensing the Alchemist’s putrid magic on him. Horror clashed in the back of his brain as he realized why Stian had allied with the mortal sorcerer - they were channeling the dead men’s powers, forcing them into his own. Nothing of what Torin was remained, he was a dry husky shell, and Zaruk had seen enough dead males from the war down South to know what decaying magic absorbing back into the soil smelled like, and what it didn’t. It was simply  _ gone,  _ and the only thing he could note was the mortal’s corruption in its place - old, nearly gone, hard to scent, telling Zaruk he’d been dead for days, if not longer. 

_ Holy fuck, this is -- _

“There you are.”

Zaruk whipped his gaze up, barely dodging Jeric’s downward swipe, but still felt an agonizing sting as the blade sharply tore through his right shoulder blade, sending his blood pouring down his side. Luckily, his wings had been spared, and he launched himself faster,  _ faster  _  - now flying through --  _ Oh gods, it’s a fucking Graveyard of them, how many are there? Hundreds? More? I can’t…. _

Suddenly, the shadows went completely immobile, forming a wall, and he slammed into  _ nothing,  _ hitting the ground with a thud. He groaned, trying to move his wings, feeling a burning anguish rip up his back as he did so. His wings - broken. Jeric was close, he could hear him coming up behind, but soon the sounds of his approach faded into nothing, and Zaruk forced his eyes to open and cooperate, looking around.

Everywhere he stared, there was simply complete blackness. It permeated everything, utterly void - no sound, no light, no wind, absolutely  _ nothing  _ \- until a form seemed to ripple and then step forward. 

Zaruk tensed as the figure in black, robes covering everything, even a veil covering his face, knelt down, fingering his wounds. Suddenly, he could smell that familiar putrid scent and went rigid with fear and disgust. _Alchemist._ Zaruk groaned, hissing and writhing against the sudden spark of pain, screaming when the form didn’t stop, merely used those shadows to hold him down and press  _ harder.  _ Whoever he was, he didn't recognize him, he was not the one Stian kept close, but someone else - someone he actually feared more  than the mortal ruining his homeland, if it was possible.

_ I need you to deliver a message for me, soldier,  _ the shadows seemed to suddenly speak. Zaruk blinked, fighting off the tears of his pain, as he tried to understand if the whispers were coming from the robed figure or the shadows themselves. He couldn’t figure out which it was, or which theory frightened him more.  _ Tell the Spymaster that I have my eye on him. If he wants to find me, he’ll need to do harder than that. If he wants to find me, he has to bring  _ **_her_ ** _ with him, if he wants a chance to free them all.  _

“I don’t -- understand,” Zaruk grunted, but suddenly the shadowed form stilled, touching his pocket. He reached inside, pulling out that stone that he’d found earlier, turning it in his palm. Slowly, he put it back inside Zaruk’s clothes - then vanished.

_ It seems there’s no need of a message, after all. This once, I’ll let the shadows tell him themselves.  _

“What’s that mean?” Suddenly, the pit of Zaruk’s stomach went cold and hard - it sounded like a death threat. The robed form didn’t say anything, merely shifted - then was gone, the shadows dissipating, returning to normal, allowing him to once more make out the cave he'd been stopped in.

Zaruk lifted his head, glancing around the cavern tunnel, but suddenly couldn’t talk, seizing and looking over his shoulder, where Jeric stood over him, panting, his dagger buried deep in Zaruk’s side. When he saw it, the pain flared wide, burning _deep_ \- a fatal blow. 

“Jeric, _please_ \-- _don’t,_ for Lief, _don’t_ \--” He tried whispering, but Jeric merely leaned down, grabbing the dagger, removing it, and then stabbed it in once more - then another, and another, and _another,_ a chilling calm _expression on his face_ \- until Zaruk closed his eyes, no longer feeling pain.

* * *

Nesta heard a small muffled argument down the hall, opening her eyes and stretching with a frown, unable to make out the words. Sitting up and reaching for the robe she’d worn yesterday, she tugged it into place, tying the sash before glancing briefly over her shoulder to see Cassian’s side of the bed empty, the fire low, having burned through the wood until only mere embers remained. Her hand reached over, feeling cool sheets. Wherever he was, he'd left a while ago. She found herself briefly smiling, closing her eyes, reaching down, feeling him in the bond - far away, but there. She wasn't sure if she'd ever get used to that, but -- it was okay. She found herself enjoying that connection, even as much as it unnerved her on occasion, whenever she gave into her old ways of wanting to shove everyone at arm's length. Not Cassian, not ever again - and that firm rule strangely left her at peace. He'd understand when she tripped up and would be there for her when she worked through the strange hang ups in her head, and she felt hope for the first time. Maybe then, with his strength and her tenacity, she could perhaps even do more than just open up to him and Astra. She brushed his side with an echo of love, feeling it returned, then re-opened her eyes and looked to the closed door and the hall beyond when the voices drew closer.

_"Let me see her--"_

_"General said not to--"_

_"I don't fucking care, let me see--"_

Rising, ruffling a few fingers through her hair, she reached for the door, only for it to be wrenched open from the other side, Astra launching herself across the room, slamming into Nesta with a sob. Nesta blinked, her eyes going wide, as she watched Enar tumble down the hall, halting at the entry to the room she’d shared with Cassian, a saddened glint to his eyes.  _ “What….?” _

“ _ Cauldron,  _ Nesta, I’m _so-so very--very sorry_ ,” Astra hiccuped between loud, unencumbered sobs. Waving Enar away when she saw the two he’d had with him yesterday in Cassian’s cabin coming down the hall to investigate the scene - the boy and his mother - the soldier nodded and closed the door, allowing her privacy with her friend. Astra didn’t stop sobbing, only seeming to cry harder, until her shoulders and wings shook, trembling violently, and Nesta gently urged her to the bed, allowing her to sit down beside her and continue to cry. 

What the hell had happened? Had Cassian or Azriel explained the details of what happened last night or interrogated her and upset her? Stiffening at the thought of Stian and his cold reptilian nature, Nesta cleared her throat, glancing down to where Astra pressed her face against her shoulder, her tears wetting her robe, something clutched in her fist - a rumpled parchment. Frowning, she tipped her head to the side, reaching for it, when Astra began to babble, making her pause.

“H-He’s a _ f-fucking m-monster, _ he hurt _you_ , and then a-after, he--he,  _ oh Gods, _ he--”

Suddenly, the shadows coalesced near the door, and Azriel stood there, looking like vengeance reborn. Immediately, she let her that icy mask she used as armor slide into place, glaring coolly at him as he looked down, staring at Astra, a savageness about his face that had her insides tightening, not that she would let him see it. She raised her arms and curled them about Astra's form protectively, and blinked when she saw the killing intensity ease in his expression. 

“What happened?” He rasped quietly, his tone rough, surprising Nesta. For a male usually known for quiet, silky threats, this was the most she’d ever seen him unraveled - and it seemed to have something to do with Astra’s state.

“I don’t know, she burst in, with this..” Nesta quickly murmured, letting Astra’s wail of pain briefly take over the room, holding her closer as she gently loosened the parchment she spotted from Astra’s grip and handed it over.  Azriel took it, uncrumpled it, read it over, his jaw flexing, then immediately shifted out of existence with a plume of darkness. _Well, so much for informing me what the contents were._

Nesta looked down, gently petting Astra’s hair, not really knowing what to say, or how to comfort her. She was not known for being a  gentle creature, open to helping others struggled through their problems. To most, she was an unforgiving wall of ice, but Astra had taken the time to thaw that ice, and she needed her now. Ignoring the threat of dark memories surrounding her brother to roll up from her consciousness, she leaned her head forward, trying to understand what had Astra in hysterics. “What’s wrong?”

Astra didn’t respond, just clutching Nesta tighter, then seemed to struggle to breathe, kneading her fingers in Nesta’s side, shuddering and gasping so loudly for breath, her cries seemed to turn to retches. Rubbing a hand down her back, Nesta looked at the door, barking Enar’s name. Nearly immediately, he slammed open the door again. His eyes lowered, then widened, and he moved to step forward. “What in the Gods names is…”

“Make her hot tea, or have your friend make it. Use the peppermint.  _ Hurry.  _ She’s so upset she’s losing control of her breathing.  _ Move.” _

Laying down with Astra against her side, she curled tightly around her friend, whispering in her ear to  _ breathe  _ \- listen to her and  _ breathe -  _ feeling her own heart stutter and shrink at the sheer amount of pain she heard in those sobs shaking Astra's form. When the female from the other evening -  _ Astrid, was it? -  _ came hurrying in with a mug and a pot, Nesta held out her hand, letting the woman pour it and press it into her grip, then settled at the end of the bed as Nesta forced Astra to turn and take a few small, tentative sips. The carnage of tears, swollen lips and eyelids and utter devastation on her face made Nesta swiftly suck in a breath. Something  _ bad  _ had happened - her friend was as fierce as she was, maybe even moreso for enduring the childhood she had and still coming out of it kind-hearted and open to befriending people like her, who’d given up on such things long ago. 

Slowly, Astra seemed to settle as she drank the tea, but the more she did, the more Nesta grew worried. With each gulp, Astra seemed to deflate, until she looked stagnant - devoid of all expression - her eyes fixated on some inner wound Nesta couldn’t reach. “Astra? Tell me what the letter said.”

It took several agonizing seconds for Astra’s gaze to turn away from whatever inner hell she’d been focused on and meet Nesta’s eyes. “Stian went home last night, with an army. He destroyed my village. Somehow, my mother was killed. Sh-She'd been... _raped_ , l-like you.  He... _ t-tore out... _ my father’s... _ heart. _  People witnessed it, Nesta. _Fucking hell,_ I had _no idea_..." She trailed off, shaking her head, trembling so violently she almost spilled her tea, and Nesta reached out, her grip firm, helping her friend even as her stomach roiled in revulsion. "Then killed the rest or took them prisoner. Some women and children were spared, but….” Astra shuddered, sipping on the tea that seemed to help her breathe, when she suddenly struggled again, and Nesta sat there with Astrid at the end of the bed, afraid to move.  _ “...it was a massacre.” _

_ Cassian wants to fight this male,  _ was all Nesta could think of, once Astra's words registered.  _ He wants to fight him, but with that vile power -- could he actually win? Or would it kill him? _

When Astra began to quiet sob again, she leaned forward, crushing Astra to her, feeling the rapid beat of Astra’s heart against her own. Slowly, the sniffles stopped, and she felt Astra's hands curl into fists, her nails digging into Nesta's side. She was heartbroken, but she was also angry. She smiled briefly, relief flooding her, knowing now her friend wasn’t beyond hope - she was just forming a layer of ice like she did once.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, stroking Astra’s hair. “I can’t bring them back, but…” She leaned back, glancing into Astra’s eyes. “...we can avenge them.”

Astra’s gaze suddenly sharpened, focusing on Nesta’s face. “What do you mean?”

Nesta smiled faintly, the expression one of cold, hard ice. Turning, she saw Enar standing just outside the door, open shock and horror on his face. He must have heard Astra's words. “Enar, escort us back to Cassian’s cabin. I need to speak to Devlon. We’re going to take those women and help find these men.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Miss Nesta, General Cassian said --”

_ “It wasn’t a request.” _


	27. Chapter 27

When Cassian and Azriel materialized on the footsteps of the manse lining the Sidra, they both stiffened at the surprise show of force. On what was normally a quaint street by the artisan alleys Feyre loved so dearly, by every window and doorstep, a small squadron of Night Guards stood ready – some Illyrian, some wingless and bearing the colors of the Court of Nightmares – and that could only mean one thing: Kier was here. Cassian knew Rhysand had called back Morrigan from below the remains of the Wall, so a flash of concern entered his mind at the thought of how she was handling the presence of her father. Why Rhysand had called him here, to his private manse rather than his official throne in the Hewn City, remained a mystery, but these days he wasn’t privy to his High Lord’s schemes and shadowed plotting. Straightening, nodding at the soldiers that stood at attention as they drew close, he thrust down the odd sensations of surprise and wariness and stepped forward, using a technique that would have made Nesta smile, washing away his expression into a pure, blank slate.

“Did you know about this?” He murmured underneath his breath to his friend as they walked towards the gates, nodding at the guards who saluted them and stepped aside so they could enter.

“No,” Azriel replied back, his tone implying nothing – not that it ever did. He wasn’t called the Master of Spies for nothing. 

Despite his annoyance at the surprise visit of Kier, another deeper concern speared through the worry – Mor’s reaction to Nesta and what she meant to him. It was important to him that she accept Nesta, but it also meant that he could no longer serve as the buffer between her and Azriel like he had for all these years. Later, he’d need to corner her and tell her, make her aware of the situation, if Rhysand already hadn’t.

Glancing sidelong at his friend as they were directed inside and down the large hallway towards the meeting rooms in the back, the interior as heavily guarded as the exterior, Cassian dropped the question of the strangeness about Rhysand’s home and briefly puzzled over Azriel’s reactions when they had met earlier and questioned Nesta’s friend, Astra, before being summoned to Velaris. Azriel had been more agitated than he’d ever seen him – eyes bright, jaw tense, form rigid. If Cassian pressed too hard, he could feel the shadows draw darker in the room, and when he’d look at his friend in surprise, Azriel had seemed a hair’s breadth away from snarling at him.

Getting the subtle warning, Cassian had stepped back and allowed Azriel to take the lead. When he had, the softening of his friend’s aura had surprised him. He had knelt down to where Astra had been sitting tensely in a chair and waited until her eyes met his. He hadn’t smiled, but Cassian had watched Azriel offer something he’d never done during an interrogation, _ever_ – empathy, kindness, and concern. Astra had still clearly been in shock, but he begrudgingly admitted she complied better to Azriel’s line of questioning than his own. Still, it wasn’t in his nature to stand along the sidelines when his sense of duty to his friends and his people were being questioned and he hadn’t been able to resist pressing for more when Azriel would have otherwise changed questions, ignoring his friend’s rising ire to broker the harder questions. To Astra’s merit, she’d complied, answering all questions asked, but her attitude was still a mystery – at times, she was horrified, even slightly panicked, and yet others she was aloof, almost resistant, when asked questions about her family’s personal ties to each other. Despite her unpredictable responses and his friend’s strange responses when he pressed her too harshly, he respected the way she held herself under the intensity of two of Illyria’s most powerful questioning her loyalty, even if she made him suspicious as hell as they continued. He didn’t know what to think and that bothered him, more than he cared to admit, especially with how close she was to his mate. For Nesta’s safety, he’d even risk Azriel’s strange wrath and lock Astra away before he allowed the female to harm her further. She’d already been through too much, but as the morning drug on and he was no closer to confirming she had been in collusion with her brother, he’d finally snapped and asked the tough questions.

_What does your brother do? Besides instigate treason, of course._

_How dare you! You don’t know that! It’s all hearsay! Where’s your proof?_

_Answer the question._

_He’s a blacksmith, I already told you this the night before._

_Yes, but see, that doesn’t make any sense. Why the traveling? Why not serve back in your home village? He’s your father’s eldest child and his only son, which makes him next in line for the Chieftain position, right? Wouldn’t your father want him close, learning politics, your people, how to govern them and keep them happy? Why would a Chieftain’s son, set to gain everything, choose to leave his home and become a traveling blacksmith of all things?_

_You don’t understand. Our home life is…complicated._

_Enlighten me, then. Complicated **how?**_

He had begun to notice as their questions and banter went on, she’d slowly become unresponsive, stoic, and had taken to adopting Nesta’s icy calm mask when pressed with serious questions. Again, he reflected on the unique friendship this female shared with his mate and – too late - perhaps realized in her own painful way, Nesta and Astra were alike by sharing similar tragedies in their past. Azriel’s rage had grown during this time, from a small rumble, to a soaring silent roar, and when he’d flat out asked whether she’d been abused, tired of the misdirection and evasion the more they pressed for answers, she suddenly stiffened and then shut down completely, refusing to speak, and his friend ripped him directly from the room with shadows, leaving him standing on the doorstep of the newly minted cabin in shock.

Storming through the front door, he’d barreled down the hallway to ask Azriel what in the hell had come over him, but stopped when he saw Azriel holding her, watching Astra’s body briefly tremble as she hugged him – actually _hugged_ him – then gently pulled back, excusing herself to the bathroom, but the look in his friend’s eyes is what stopped him from speaking. The murderous look in Azriel’s eyes had shocked him, because it was one he held in his own when he’d found Nesta sobbing on the floor of his cabin, freshly attacked.

_Do not test me, friend. Not with her._

The nonverbal warning had surprised him, shocked him, and he found himself without a proper way to object, simply nodding.

Before he could open his mouth and speak of his suspicions regarding his friend and the female they’d left under guard with Enar back in the new camp, Azriel stating she was no harm to Nesta and anyone that placed her in shackles had to challenge him first, the doors leading to Rhysand’s private meeting rooms in the back of the manse opened, and Cassian and Azriel both stopped dead in their tracks, staring with equally dubious expressions at the crowd gathered in the room.

Rhysand stood, gesturing to two empty chairs at a large obsidian table. “Good, you’re here. Now we can start. Take a seat, this’ll take some time.”

At the back of the long room, bay windows with satin silk curtains of deep indigo overlooked the Sidra, the walls decorated in splashes of blue and purple paint with flecks of gold – resembling the night sky and the Court that Rhysand and Feyre ruled. A black chandelier hung from the ceiling, both absorbing and reflecting light in shattered patterns of broken rainbows. All the opulence present couldn’t overshadow or diminish the sheer the amount of guards in the room, though - nor the strange gathering of occupants at the table they’d just been invited to sit at, Cassian’s surprise deepening into concern at who he and Azriel saw.

There, at the table, sat every Court leader in Prythian, along with the trio that had taken to governing those remaining below the wall: Vassa, Jurien, and Lucien. The rest of the Inner Circle flanked Rhysand and Feyre, who headed up the other end of the large table. Morrigan was stationed at Rhysand’s side, with Kier stationed far enough away he could sense the slight against the male’s vanity at the position he held at the table, in the chair next to where Azriel and Cassian would sit, on either side of him. As his eyes roamed the room, what surprised him next sent him nearly into a state of shock. Every War Chieftain that had been on that parchment he’d given Rhysand, including Worolf, stood along the back wall, prepared to listen in. _All manner of Prythian leadership in one single room? A little warning would have been nice._

“Shall we begin?” Rhysand murmured coolly, making Cassian jerk his eyes back once more to his High Lord. He nodded, following Azriel to their appointed seat, and servants swept around the room, dispersing glasses of wine and scented water once everyone was at their places.

Cassian slid Azriel one extra glance before the doors to the meeting room swung shut, all eyes in the room pivoting to Rhysand, who held the floor, leaving the silence as the only acceptable answer to Rhysand’s question.

 _This should be interesting,_ he inwardly sighed, as Rhysand sat back down and gathered everyone’s attention.

* * *

 

“And you expect me to believe—what, exactly? That _you’re_ going to lead them? Heh.”

Nesta stared at Devlon from where he stood in the middle of the empty training ring near Cassian’s cabin, juggling two bokkens in his grasp, ignoring the glimmer of amusement that laced his stony face as his eyes roamed over her once more. She was used to others looking down at her, thinking that she was too cold or too weak to be trusted with the tenacity to follow through with her plans.

“If you’d only listen,” Enar started at her side, standing between her and Astra, but Nesta silenced him with a look. In the corner of her eye, she saw the other females that her and Astra had been training with approach, curious about the confrontation but not eager to interrupt, content with merely watching.

Stepping forward, Nesta gave Devlon a brittle smile. “That’s right, if I’m selected. I’d like to take a small squadron of the women here and scout the caverns. Before you interrupted me, I was about to tell you what happened last night. Don’t tell me pride ranks above protecting your own in Illyria?”

Devlon’s eyes narrowed at her. “I don’t like your tone, Ice Princess. I’d watch how I was talking, if I were you.”

“Why? Because it’s true? Or because I’m a woman and asking to take charge of a group of my peers to check out a problem I’ve heard about?” Nesta answered coolly, driving home her point with a wide smile, flashing her teeth.

“You think you got what it takes? Show me, then.” Devlon spat, dropping a bokken at her feet. Nesta didn’t bother to bend over to grab the wooden sword, noting the way Devlon shifted on his feet already, raising the wooden sword still in his left hand as he smirked, intending to show her once more that she wasn’t ready.

Remembering Astra’s sobs and Stian’s perverse power – and the fact that Cassian was hellbent on challenging the male that could very well harm him, as well as the issue it brought to the place she’d begun to finally feel comfortable calling home – gave her the strength, and the needed anger, to simply charge forward, raising her fist. Devlon laughed, swinging his sword down towards her torso, but _this_ time, she wasn’t playing nice. Devlon had taught her that – _war is not clean; no one cares about rules on the battlefield, they care about **winning.** _

Lashing out with her fists before his sword connected with her body, she calmly reached deep and whispered in that silent space inside herself for its help. _Show him what you can do but don’t harm him._

The pain that accompanied her power’s answer was not without a price. It felt like the very marrow in her bones was on fire, but she did this to prove a point, even if the power needed a fuel source from somewhere. She grit her teeth, feeling her skin light up, glowing a bright blue, her fist connecting with Devlon’s chest piece just as his eyes flickered wide in shock, but it was too late for him to land a blow, his swing only midway in its downward strike when her power exploded out of her in a bright arc and sent him soaring, crashing into the trees several hundred yards away.

Afterwards, the pain abated, but not before she felt the sudden weakness in her limbs and the looseness in her clothing. So, that was the price of her little display. Figuring she could remedy it later, she stood, making sure to show no outward affliction at the changes and brushed off crusted snow from her skirts. She ignored the heavy stares, her skin prickling under the attention of all the heavy stares directed her way. Not even bothering to glance at Enar or Astra, she walked calmly over to where Devlon was sprawled against the base of a large tree trunk, a stunned expression on his face. His armor was scorched, but her power had listened and he remained unharmed, the only additional change being a sudden fearful wariness lighting in his eyes as she approached, scrambling to his feet and sidestepping her, giving her a wide berth as she circled him, pinning him with the same thorough inspection that he had given her earlier. He bristled and she smiled, knowing the insult landed – just like it had with her.  _Good, now you know how it feels._

The silence that carried on as they stared down each other was so heavy, she realized she could hear the soft sounds of nature over the sheer absence of anything else – no talking, no gasps, no panting or breathing or shouting from her peers or the village beyond -  the only thing audible being the whistle of wind between pine trees. Even the Smithy’s in the distance seemed silent.

“Well? Am I?” She asked him, deciding to break the silence, once the heaviness settled and she felt the tension change from the surprise at what she could do, to what Devlon’s response would be. Tilting her head to the side, she waited. “Worthy to lead, that is?”

“I ain’t never seen anything like that in all my fighting days, except perhaps from the High Lord himself,” Devlon finally admitted, rubbing a hand across his stubbled jaw, his eyes still carrying a hesitancy that hadn’t left ever since she marched towards him. “You always been able to do that? You keep that power inside you?”

“Yes,” she responded, watching him swallow and glance behind her. She didn’t move her eyes off him but saw his jaw flicker as he ground his teeth, no doubt also able to see the crowd they had since gathered. Her lips twitched briefly at the soft string of curses that he muttered under his breath before he looked over her once more.

“I can’t go against the High Lord or General’s orders,” Devlon replied, raising his voice, after spending several seconds canting his attention between her and the others gathered around them. “I received notice to ready this village for movement by this afternoon.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth to object, but Devlon silenced her by raising a hand.

“ _However,_ ” he started again, his eyes cautioning her silently, as he inspected her once more, “I can’t control every male and female in this village. If they want to join you on your little fishing expedition, I won’t stop them. Just make sure you and your recruits are gone by noon and I’ll just have to report you missing. I won’t mention your plans and I don’t want to know them, neither. Less I know, less retaliation you’ll receive for defying orders, no matter what you mean to the General.”

Nesta stilled, realizing what he was telling her, watching him as he held her gaze for a long moment then suddenly turned, looking out at the crowd. “Show’s over, folks. Training is cancelled for today. I’ll be in my cabin for those that need me. Those coming to Rhysand’s call, meet me in the village square at noon.”

_I can’t control every male and female in this village. If they want to join you, I won’t stop them._

Turning, she glanced at Enar and Astra, who stood nearby staring at her with a combination of respect and awe. She shrugged a shoulder, then glanced further past them, seeing the crowd disperse, but not entirely. A handful of Illyrian females they’d trained with and even a few males stood, staring at her. Enar and Astra turned, noting the small residual group, and Astrid and Hammund came up, joining them.

She inhaled slowly, her heart constricting at what their presence meant. It wasn’t a large crowd, but it was _something_ – others believed she was strong enough to scout for Stian ahead of Cassian and help these stubborn, isolated people she’d grown to care for, especially their illustrious General.

“Okay,” she finally murmured – at the crowd, at herself. _We’re really doing this._ Pointing to Cassian’s cabin, she glanced over those gathered. “Ready yourselves. Get yourself weapons ready and dressed for combat. Meet us at the General’s cabin in under an hour and I’ll tell you what we have so far. Lofoten was attacked last night and nearly every male, including their War Chieftain, were killed, by those that left and decided to murder their own people rather than follow General Cassian's command. These are your people dying out there. They were also Astra’s people--Matthias Haavik was her father.”

A brief flicker of shock rippled through the small crowd as their gaze shifted from her to Astra, taking her in a new light. She tensed, but met their gaze unflinchingly with her own, even if invisible pain seemed to pour from every pore of her body. Their gaze turned sympathetic as Nesta went on. “We will avenge them, but do not spread these words to your peers. Simply show up and prepare to move with us if you want to go. If you don’t, we won’t hold it against you. I can’t guarantee your safety, but those people need to be avenged. This madness has to stop.”

Turning, she marched towards the cabin, feeling Astra, Enar and his companions – the woman and her son – follow. “See you soon if you’re up to the task,” she murmured to the others as she passed, not waiting to see their expressions as she set her shoulders and moved towards the cabin’s front door.

 _I’m really doing this,_ she realized. That wasn’t what surprised her, though – it was the lack of fear she felt that caught her off guard and made her briefly smile to herself.

* * *

“I know my summons was sudden and this is an unusual place to meet with everyone gathered in this room, but what my High Lady and I are about to reveal is important and I’d prefer to cut down on the circulation of rumors. It was too important to wait and, with the number of eyes, ears and mouths in the room, you’ll take this as seriously as we do. We hope, with our transparency, we’ll expect the same in kind when we ask for it.” Rhysand murmured, flicking his gaze between the others in the room, making Cassian blink slowly to combat the surprise that continued to well up inside him as he stared. When Rhysand had written him, asking for him to show early, he’d replied stating there had been a development – _Astra_ – and he couldn’t make it. Now, he was wishing he had. Rhysand’s eyes briefly hovered in his direction, as if his High Lord could hear his thoughts, and he took a note from Nesta, smoothing his expression into complete obscurity as he watched Rhysand shift, glancing to Feyre at his side.

“The Alchemists are in Night Territory,” she spoke, right on cue, keeping her face impassive and eyes sharp, turning her own head to meet everyone’s gaze equally. “We noticed the intrusion a few days ago, spending a few days gathering what intel we could, before we brought it to you. They’re here, in Night, and I can only assume that means that they’re also in your own courts.”

Eris stiffened, amber eyes glittering as he leaned forward, but Feyre turned, facing him, blue eyes blazing. “This isn’t the time for pride, or arrogance, or petty differences that would keep us from working together. They’re in Night, tearing our war camps apart with distension and corruption, and you would heed our words wisely and _listen.”_

Her eyes flickered to Shula, who sat at Tamlin’s side, far across the room, but Feyre smiled at the High Lady of Spring all the same. Cassian noted she refused to meet Tamlin’s gaze, still not completely at ease in his presence, but Shula had been an anchor, and friendly face, they’d all needed from that court to make things work. “I think we should all take a lesson from High Lady Spring’s playbook,” Feyre murmured. “She doesn’t boast, or hold half herself with secrets, not when the state of her Court is in jeopardy, and look how they’ve grown.”

Gesturing around the room, finally to herself, Feyre’s eyes dulled as she frowned, shaking her head. “And look at the history of ours. We _must_ get along once more to face this. Surely our survival can merit us working together, like we did when Hybern moved into the Isle?”

“What makes you think they’re in Night?” Tarquin asked softly, drawing the gaze of the others. “Has something happened? Pardon for the rudeness, High Lady Night, but proof is warranted. My people are just now recovering from the last war, and I’m leery to alert my court that more infiltrators might be plotting nefarious things when we could simply be jumping at shadows.”

“Surely, even for someone so young, you can’t be so naive,” Rhysand interjected, his violet eyes narrowing. Tarquin, a kind and somewhat soft High Lord from Cassian’s observations, merely stared back, arching an eyebrow. Cassian silently agreed with Rhysand, but continued to simply listen. Rhysand glanced around the room. “You think I gathered you all here for pleasant conversation? You think I like pointing out Night has been compromised? To what end? A few hundred years ago, such an invite would incite violence and an immediate war over territory. Your father or grandfather would have stood in that chair and killed me the moment that left my lips. As much as I want Prythian to enjoy a long lasting peace, I also _always_ prepare. The Alchemists are here, you _should_ be concerned and alert your court leaders.”

“They’re here,” Lucien finally murmured, drawing everyone’s attention. He shifted briefly in his chair at the sudden focus of the vortex of all those powerful stares, but glanced sidelong as Vassa who nodded in encouragement, Amren standing and tossing a few parchments around the table. “These were found in Illyria. Spring can verify their authenticity, I was there when Tamlin and Shula gave them to Morrigan. They’d used them to attempt to harvest High Lady Shula’s life.”

The room went silent once more as everyone’s gaze shifted from the exiled High Fae to the drawings.

“Some, yes,” Tamlin murmured, pointing at a few symbols. “But a few of these are new. What are they?”

“They were found in the caverns of Illyria,” Lucien murmured in response after a brief pause in the room, Cassian noting Amren merely stared boredly around the room. From the looks of it, she’d been woken earlier than usual and her dark mood attested to it as she all but remained stone-faced, forcing Lucien to lead the conversation, something the fox didn’t look too keen to do, but nonetheless was too complicit to ignore a request. Cassian almost snorted in amusement, but contented himself with silently observing. He didn’t object to this tactic, now knowing why Rhysand had summoned everyone here in one large meeting. The Alchemist problem was growing right under their noses like wildfire and the time for subterfuge and games was long past, especially if they continued to do what they were doing now, on an even greater scale – or worse, learned how to make immortals in combination with magic siphoning.

Prythian wouldn’t stand a chance.

“They’re a combination of Prythian language and mortal language, but to be honest, we don’t know all of them. It seems like they’re inventing a new scripture that we’re not entirely sure of the intent. We’re engaging the assistance of Helion’s court as well as the scribes here in Velaris, hopefully to interpret them more fully,” Lucien admitted, canting his head briefly towards Helion, who nodded in return, Tamlin and the others noting the exchange. “I asked him earlier if he didn’t mind if we engaged his libraries, because—”

“Wait a moment, you said some are Prythian symbols?” Kallias frowned, sitting forward, his glacial eyes sharpening as they pierced Lucien and then turned towards Rhysand and Feyre. “As in…mortals _stole_ our magic symbols?”

“Stole, observed, passed down from their ancestors when they were still enslaved to our kind, given our forefathers were awfully sloppy in many ways?” Rhysand shrugged a shoulder, rubbing a finger between his brows, the only indication of the tiredness Cassian sensed from his High Lord. “It’s impossible to trace. They could have learned them from anywhere. We underestimated that mortals could even use Fae magic. It wasn’t until I contact the mortal queens that I realized they could.”

Cassian turned his gaze to Vassa, noting the others did as well. She glanced around the room and he had to admire that she was willing to stare into the hostile gaze of all the High Fae and Illyrians present in the room. “If you’ve read my submissions in our previous meetings, you’ll know the Alchemists are a dark sect of a druid line my people have followed for centuries. A line that existed even when we were enslaved to your kind, adopting to your ways. Their magic was harmless to a High Fae and only benefited mortals in small measures. The Alchemists taught us to winnow and how to summon and bargain for power, but when I noticed their darker inclinations, I cast them out of my lands, which is probably why I’m still a stranger to my own body and can’t breach my own castle.”

Kallias and Eris looked to say something in response – Kallias frowning in sympathy, Eris’ eyes narrowing in suspicion - but Vassa cut them both off with a glare. “Don’t forget your _own_ people started this with enslaving us in the first place. The mortals retaliated and, _gods forbid_ , learned some of _your_ bad habits of deceit and fascism. Since I’ve helped govern with Jurien, you’ll note the mortals below the wall have been nothing but peaceful.”

“It’s true,” commented Shula, gathering a few stares. She shrugged, lacing her fingers with Tamlin’s. “Kristoph has been invaluable to us, for all species involved,” she expanded, mentioning her Ambassador, still one of the few  humans to hold any merit in a High Fae Court system, but everyone gathered had begun to note his fairness and integrity.

“This is all great and well,” Thesan finally drawled, drawing the crowd this time in his direction, where his mate stood guard behind him, angel wings on full display, “but I must agree with Tarquin. Show us proof, Rhysand. I cannot spare the bodies for hearsay.”

Rhysand stared back and Cassian felt Azriel stiffen at his side, then suddenly dispurse in a cloud of shadow. A few murmurs between the War Chieftains filled the silence at Azriel’s departure, but Cassian stared at Rhysand, who’s gaze flickered to his own. He shrugged a shoulder, sensing Rhysand’s anger at having to display the ugliness of their own internal problems happening, the lessons of his father too deeply ingrained to completely be comfortable displaying weakness to opposing courts, but knew shock value had its uses.

 _All or nothing,_ he willed to Rhysand with his eyes. _Show them what we found. Maybe then they’ll take this threat seriously._

Rhysand said nothing, just stood, reaching to the center of the table with his right hand. Suddenly, his magic pulsed, making the entire room tense and shift – armor creaking, clothes rustling, feet and hands scrambling to draw everyone back – but just as fast it was gone, followed by a small burst of starlight, and then the loud slam of dead weight against the obsidian table sent wine glasses shattering and rolling to the floor.

Tarquin and Thesan staggered to their feet, Kallis and Viviene freezing, the others merely staring in shock, just as Cassian felt the press of those standing in the back of the room step forward, all while Cassian sent Rhysand a subtle nod, meeting his gaze with his own before watching the impact of what they were seeing flash across their faces.

In the center of the table stood what remained of an Illyrian warrior in his prime – shrunken, drained of all magic, akin to dead ash yet somehow eerily preserved, his skin carved with symbols that could only be drawn by someone familiar enough with Alchemy to do the devastation seen there. Shula rested a hand on her rounded stomach and sobbed, burying her head against Tamlin’s shoulder, her mate’s arms coming around her.

“The hells is this, Rhysand?” Tamlin snarled, his tone distorted, as if he was fighting off the beast. Cassian glanced over at Tamlin, noting the claws sprouting from his fingers, fangs evident against his lower lip as he glared at Rhysand, upset with how the body affected Shula.

“Apologies to High Lady Spring,” Rhysand commented, not looking up from the body he had summoned, his jaw tense, the room drawing darker, hinting at the rising anger in his High Lord, “I know how this must bring up bad memories for her, but your peers demanded proof. Well, _there it is._ See what they’re doing to my people – my fighting forces.”  His eyes rose, meeting every stare in the room. “Now you see why we must agree to end this…together.”

A burst of shadows at his side had Cassian and the others turning. Azriel appeared, dark eyes blazing, a note crumpled in his palm. He seemed to briefly debate, then glanced at the body Rhysand had summoned on the table, and spoke aloud. “Lofoten has fallen.”

Utter silence followed, Rhysand’s face briefly flickering in shock and grief as Cassian’s heart plummeted at the news. _Fuck._

“Tell me what you need, Day will provide,” Helion broke the silence, glancing at Rhysand, his expression heavy.

“If you need additional aerial support, we will assist as well,” Thesan murmured quickly, still staring at the corpse splayed out across the table, his mate shifting on his feet, leaning back to murmur to a few of his companion soldiers.

Eris seemed to finally find his voice, prying his eyes away from the body to stare around the room. “Autumn has no forces to commit. Small units, mostly, but nothing of fighting capacity. We’re still low on soldiers from Hybern, but—”

“Spring will add their ranks with Autumn,” Tamlin interrupted Eris, surprising everyone by offering the male of the court whose father he’d just killed months prior unprompted aide, glancing around the room. “We can extend our scout’s expeditions to investigate the coasts along the mortal areas and the lower courts, see if we can’t pick up rumors of strange activity, just in case it’s as you fear, that they’re moving into all the courts.”

Eris stared at Tamlin, but finally nodded, and Tarquin finally swallowed and added to the offerings. “We can scout to Hybern’s Isle, make sure that they’re not involved in any of…this…”

“Winter will help Summer,” Kallias calmly spoke, making Tarquin nod at the acceptance.

“I don’t have many contacts left,” Vassa murmured, drawing attention her way, but she swallowed and continued on. “I can see who I can still trust in my old lands, see if we can learn what their plans are.”

“It’s too dangerous, we can’t have anyone being caught,” Rhysand began to caution, but Jurien interrupted him.

“I’ll go alone,” he said, standing. “I’ve studied the maps, I know Vassa’s contacts just as much as she does. They’ll trust me and the message if I deliver it. I’m human.”

Rhysand seemed to hesitated, then nodded. The other High Lords murmured in agreement.

“Today, Cassian, Morrigan and Azriel will lead the others,” Rhysand turned his gaze to the standing War Chieftains, who had taken the news of Lofoten’s fall and the dead soldier more calmly than Cassian would have thought, “-and ferret out those still hiding in my lands and send a message to them, even if it involves killing, which I loathe to do, but this weed must be rooted out. We will not tolerate _anyone_ working with the Alchemists and they must be made an example of. Chiefs, prepare your men. You move within the hour.”

The War Chieftains all nodded and Cassian rose, feeling Azriel and Morrigan rise with him, still meeting Rhysand’s stare. They still hadn’t spoken about his harsh words regarding Nesta, but right now, they had bigger problems.

Suddenly, he felt Azriel jerk at his side. Glancing over as the dull roar of conversation from the rest of the gathered room continued, he tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at his friend as shadows licked at Azriel’s collar. “What is it?”

Azriel’s eyes met his own, his lips curling in a faint feral smirk. “The trace stones. One was activated.”

Cassian stared back and mimicked the expression. “Then what are we waiting for?”


	28. Chapter 28

Nesta turned, tugging the buckles tight on the new set of armor she was wearing, swallowing faintly as she inspected the figure she cut in the reflection staring back at her.

She had slipped into Cassian’s room once they had stumbled inside his cabin, dragging a parcel of packages addressed to her to his room, annoyed at her emotional response to the gifts he’d left her while in front of witnesses. She had sucked in a sharp breath, saw the packages and the note the crafter had left in response to Cassian’s order – something she noticed he had placed just after the first day of her training – and mumbled an excuse to get away from the others. They’d given her leave, seemingly understanding her embarrassment, and when she’d locked herself inside the same room they’d first made love and declared themselves mates, she’d opened them all and stared, her heartrate raging inside her chest.

She _wouldn’t_ cry, no matter how much she wanted to. After she’d opened each one and spread them all across the bed – the sheets still rumpled and smelling of their lovemaking – she had stood and stripped eagerly, then dressed.

He hadn’t bought her baubles, or dresses, or perfume. No, Cassian had bought her armor and weapons. Again, the mere thought had made her want to cry, wondering how he knew her so well. _All the months you knew me, saw how I dressed, what I wore, what I read, and yet – you knew I would somehow treasure this above all that. How…?_

Fingering the sturdy boiled leather material of her new gear, she turned and once more traced the outfit with her eyes, admiring the expert craftsmanship in the long dressing mirror by the bathroom door. Knowing she was alone, she gave into the sensation and smiled faintly at Cassian’s thoughtfulness. He had seen to everything and once more, she felt her eyes sting with the need to shed tears. Muttering a curse underneath her breath, she chuckled and wiped at her lids, twisting her arms and torso, stretching slightly in the ensemble, relishing the smell of fresh leather and the soft creaking noise as the armor moved along with her. She was still sore and tired from her earlier display, but she’d eat soon enough and told her power to replace her lost energy. _We need to be ready,_ she whispered to it, lifting her eyes to meet her own reflection’s gaze in the mirror. _You know what’s at stake and why we’re doing this. Enough is enough – no more death._ The warmth she felt in her stomach told her it understood and would do her bidding.

Once more, her eyes lowered, admiring the craft of the gear she wore: a leather brigandine, gorget, greaves, and bracers, all the color of smooth umber and gold accents. At her hips were a short sword and an unusual-looking dagger, but she noted when she held it that it fit comfortably in her hand and neither weapon was too heavy, impacting her ability to swing or use it. When she’d pulled them from the packages, taking a few test swings, she swallowed back tears once more, thinking this time, these weapons were a gift from both her mate and his best friend, Azriel. _Cassian was the sword,_ her thoughts supplied as she looked at each, making her turn and smile, admiring the gleam of the hilts from where they rested inside the sheathes strapped to her hips and thighs, _and Azriel was the dagger._

She had taken the time to work her hair into a familiar style, one Cassian would notice instantly, if he spotted her in the field and didn’t recognize her in the battle regalia. She smirked faintly as she studied the crown of braids, turning her head side and adopting the expressionless icy mask she was now infamous for. _Ready or not,_ she thought, staring over her looks – the face so many hated, rarely understood, not bothering to know the true woman underneath all the ice - the thought making her lips twist bitterly, _I’m coming for you, Stian. For what you did to Astra, to these people, for what you no doubt plan with Cassian. It ends **now.**_

She wondered, as she stared at her face, if they could see the subtle gleam in her eyes – a warm sharpness there that wasn’t present before, brought about entirely by the love she now embraced for the man who’d purchased these things for her: Cassian, General of Illyria, and her mate.

 _To think, I pushed him away for so long, and even then, he was looking out for me._ Trailing her fingers over the items, the pads of her thumbs finding the small jerkin underneath the sturdy leather exterior, she idly thought back to Winter Solstice, feeling a pain bloom in her chest at the other gift he’d offered her once, where she’d taken it and cast it into the river, hoping at the time he’d finally take note of her outward indifference and leave her be. It had worked, for a time, and now the thought pained her. _What had you gotten me that day, Cassian? What did I so carelessly throw away, too afraid to look?_

Shaking off the sudden melancholy, she once more forced her mind on other things – like what she was about to undertake.

Straightening when she heard the knock at the door, she turned and saw Astra step in, dressed in similar items, just a slightly different color. It seemed one pair hadn’t been enough for Cassian and the crafter had sent two sets, one slightly different than the others, in case Nesta hadn’t cared for the first suit. The set of blacks and dark grey leather Astra was dressed in paired well with her friend’s coloring. They were lucky to be of similar size and shape, even if the armor pinched in a few areas, Astra’s curves slightly more substantial than her own. Still, they did the job and her friend wore them well, looking like some kind of hell-bent angel.

 _No, not angel,_ she thought, looking over her friend, remembering her affinity for Azriel. _A shadow singer, like the Spy Master._

 _Thank you both,_ her mind suddenly spoke to the two Illyrian men in question, wherever they were right now, as she saw Astra cant her head, looking over Nesta’s appearance as she stepped inside the room, her longer dark hair slicked back in a tight braid down her back, eyes still a little hollow and dark, given the news she’d been digesting since just earlier that morning. _Thank you for being there for me, and my friend._

She hadn’t asked Astra yet about the line of questions Cassian and Azriel had no doubt pushed past Astra, fearing it would upset her further, but the determination shining in her friend’s notably tired expression eased her worries. Nesta recognized that look from the hard days in her past and knew, deep down, Astra was there as much as she could be – and that she’d see this through, no matter what. 

“How do the weapons feel? Did you test them as you tried them on? Cassian has a small arsenal here, so we can get you something different if those don’t work.” She asked, watching Astra glance over at her, that tiredness still present in her eyes. She nodded, still slightly quiet, ever since they’d stepped back in Cassian’s cabin and began the process of dressing in the proper gear.

“Are you ready for this?” Nesta murmured, voicing what she wondered. _Are you ready to face your brother and take him down if he’s truly as guilty as they claim?_ She remembered Cassian’s words, Astrid’s words, even the words of the little boy named Hammund that waited at the end of the hall for them both to join them and go over the next phase of their plans.

Astra tensed, her form going rigid, even as her eyes flared brightly from where she stood, staring at Nesta. Nesta stared back, keeping her expression void, but relaxed as she watched Astra swallow and nod sharply.

“Of course,” she replied, her tone sharp, even if pained. Her eyes didn’t flicker or move away, meeting Nesta’s head on. “If Stian did, in fact, kill father – was responsible for what happened to my home village, for instigating this civil unrest….” She stilled, her teeth gritting tight, eyes flaring with pain, tears welling in her eyes but her friend seemingly refusing to allow them to spill, so much like Nesta was, “I will personally turn him in myself. And…” She continued, her voice cracking, when Nesta opened her mouth to ask what she’d do if Stian was in league with the Alchemist and unwilling to come in without protest, “If it comes to it – I’ll kill him.”

Suddenly, Astra swayed, pain twisting her features as she sucked in a low sob. “They raped and killed my mother. My _harmless_ , _gentle, loving_ mother. She didn’t deserve—” She stood rigidly when Nesta stepped forward, tugging her into a soft embrace. “She didn’t deserve that and they deserve to die for doing that,” she whispered at Nesta’s ear.

“They do,” Nesta agreed.

“And if Cassian finds out you went against his wishes and joined me in hunting him down?” Astra murmured, looping her arms around Nesta. “That you’re with a female of questionable loyalty and disappeared, as Devlon plans to report it? Aren’t you worried what this’ll mean for you?”

“If it’s doing the right thing, I think he’ll understand,” Nesta murmured back. “And I’m sick of waiting and being told what to do. Why train with a sword if I never plan to use it?”

Astra’s watery laugh hid most of her friend’s pain, and wariness, of what they were about to face, but it made Nesta smile all the same. Together, they made their way towards the gathering room down the hall – and the faces that were looking up to them to have a plan to bring this chaos to an end.

* * *

 

 

“Did we do the right thing? Showing our weakness so openly?”

Feyre glanced up from the pile of signed treaties she was organizing to stare at her mate, who was draped across his chair, one knee cast over the side arm of his seat, his eyes unfocused, a frown tugging at his lips. Dropping the parchments, she moved to his side, then settled in his lap, looping her fingers around his neck and in the silky material of his tunic’s collar when he opened his arms and tugged her into his grip.

The meeting room was cleared – still slightly messy in the aftermath of discussion that had followed with so many present, so many servants filling glasses, moving dead bodies of the Alchemist’s machinations that they’d shown those gathered, but Feyre knew it wasn’t the untidiness of the room that bothered him, it was having displayed Night’s predicament so thoroughly to the other Courts that had attended, and his own internal War Chiefs. If someone as powerful as Rhysand could be affected, it spelled bad news for Prythian as a whole, but he worried the others would merely use it as a way to retaliate for slights long since passed, when Amarantha or Hybern ruled.

“Why do you say that?” She murmured, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. He returned it, but only half-heartedly, and she pulled back with a frown to study the knot of worry that wrinkled his brow, his eyes still staring at the parchments she’d been reviewing.

They’d all signed them – every court, no objections. They’d either been too horrified at the corpse and the evidence that it showed to question the terms Rhysand had demanded, that Feyre and himself, with Lucien and Morrigan’s help, had laid out the night before over dinner. Amren had been too involved in trying to interpret the symbols present to offer much more than a few opinions, but it had been her idea to bind the agreements in magic, something the other High Lords hadn’t objected to, either. It had left Feyre pleased, hoping that _finally_ the High Lords of Prythian had begun to work together, something she remembered Shula spoken of aloud at their first meeting since the war Hybern had brought had nearly devastated them all.  

Spring would work with Autumn and secure the lower coastline. Summer and Winter would send delegates to Hybern’s Isle, ferret out the status of the Fae still left there, ensure no dreams of vengeance were taking hold, or that the Alchemists had extended their reach to that poisonous, misguided place. Day and Dawn had offered soldiers and even now, were meeting with Morrigan, Cassian, Azriel and the various War Chiefs Rhysand and thought to bring into the conversation. Even Vassa had armed Jurien with contacts and a mission, and gone back below the wall to help ease tensions in the small section of land under Spring’s protection while Lucien stayed behind, planning to work with Helion and Amren and decipher the Alchemist’s odd coded language. She didn’t think of how _that_ would work, or if Helion even knew the true origins of the fox’s birth. _Does he know – that Lucien is his son? If he does, why did he leave him to suffer under Beron?_ She distinctly remembered Rhysand having a tenuous relationship with Helion, but had never thought to ask, ever since she’d blurted out her realization of their relationship that one night in Dawn. Filing it away to ask later, she turned back to her mate, noting his troubled stare still hadn’t dissolved.

“We got them all to agree to terms – terms you _insisted_ on. Not a single court disagreed, at the words or the consequences of failing to follow through.” She reminded him, gesturing to the pile of parchments. “We have their signatures on each and every document we poured over dinner last night with the others,” she murmured, pressing another kiss to his temple when he sighed and began to relax, his arms loosening around her hips. “Even bound them all with magic, and they didn’t object to even that, not even Eris. They understand how serious this is, Rhys. You won in what _matters._ If it required us to show our weaknesses to get them to sign—wasn’t it worth it?”

“I suppose,” Rhysand frowned, turning his head her way when she snorted faintly, arching an eyebrow. “What was that for?” He asked, his tone torn between amusement and frustration.

“It isn’t the meeting that’s bothering you, is it?” She asked, feeling fear skirt up her spine as she went still and swallowed, her eyes lowering to her stomach. After all they’d discussed, after they’d agreed – did he regret it? _Does he want this child? Or did he merely agree and is now thinking it a mistake?_ Hearing Rhysand’s murmur of her name in concern, she lifted her gaze and met his head on, frowning once more. “You don’t want this child, do you?”

“ _Cauldron Above,_ why in the hells would you think that?” Rhysand hissed, jerking under her, his grip tightening on her hips as a horrified expression rippled across his features. “I was involved in the making of that babe as much as you, Feyre, _of course I want it!_ ”

“Then why have you been so quiet at night? Why have you been avoiding me?” She asked, remembering the past few nights where Rhysand had worked himself down to near exhaustion and stumbled asleep in one of their many guest beds, instead of their own. She _knew_ he loved her, cherished their bond and had literally _died_ helping her and his people – but she’d begun to wonder, as she was often prone to do when left to her own devices, if choosing to give in and usher in a child had been a mistake. The timing, she admitted, couldn’t have been worse, but then – when _was_ the right time? This was _Prythian_ , danger lurked in every corner. If they waited, would there be any guarantee their future would be any less deadly than the present? The answer was no, and they both knew it, which is why they’d agreed to begin trying in the first place. She remembered what that little boy looked like, the one the Bone Carver had shown her, and wondered if that was who she was bringing into this world. The thought made her shiver – with endless love and hope for what would be their _son,_ for endless fear of what kind of world she was bringing him into. _Please tell me you want this as much as I do,_ she pleaded silently.

“ _Hells,_ Feyre, it’s not because of that, never because of that,” Rhysand muttered, scooping her up in his arms, holding her close, tucking her chin against his chest, as his own rested on the crown of her head. “I love you, I love this babe, I’m just…” He chuckled, shaking his head, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “I’m used to being more involved. Now, I sit in a chair, in a room of stifling leaders, and I _deliberate._ Don’t you remember….before? When it was just us?”

“I remember,” she murmured, tilting her head back, catching his mouth with her own. He groaned, deepening the kiss, but she pulled back before he escalated it, smiling faintly. “But that was before your court and Hybern was taken care of. You’ve an Inner Circle for a reason, Rhys. Let them do what their duties require. You can’t do everything on your own, especially not now….” She reached for his hand, placing it on the lower part of her belly. “Not when it’s more than just you and me we have to worry for, okay?”

He swallowed, nodding, his eyes staring at where she had placed his hand. “It’s not even that I’m worried about, love,” he finally admitted, swallowing, glancing up into her face, a flicker of fear shining there – fear he’d only show her. “What if I’m a horrible father? My own father was—”

“You _died_ saving this world, saving _me._ You sacrificed your own happiness, loved me from afar, before I was ready to accept you,” she whispered, kissing him again. “You’ll be a perfect father, Rhysand. You understand the most fundamental rule: Place them before yourself. You practice it each and every day. You practiced it here, showing the others how much Night is at risk, and thus, so are their own courts. You will be a _wonderful_ father.”

“I love you,” he croaked, his eyes welling with the heaviness of the emotions buried there.

She smiled back, tracing his cheeks and lips with her fingers. “I know you do,” she murmured, glancing over her shoulder. “Now put those documents away someplace safe. I need my mate to take me to our rooms and make love to me.”

Rhysand grinned, his violet eyes turning warm, hot, and smoldering. “As my High Lady commands,” he murmured back – and with a flick of his wrist, did just as she demanded.

* * *

“You gonna talk to her, or what?”

Lucien bit back a grimace, casting his eyes towards the small black-haired female that stared at him from across the study room, her eyes alight with some foreign emotion he couldn’t decipher. Amusement? Annoyance? Either way, he wasn’t in the mood to be her toy for the evening.

He knew Elain was in the manse, having felt it burning under his skin all evening. He’d hoped, with enough alcohol, the sensation would lessen during the meeting Rhysand had summoned after dinner’s lengthy discussion yesterday – but no. He could _feel_ her, _smell_ her, and the more he ignored it, the more it grew like a thorn in his side, until merely breathing had become a struggle. He wondered if Amren had been able to sense his restlessness and cursed himself again, willing himself to complete stillness before dropping his gaze to the desk he was sitting at.

“No, not when we have this task in front of us,” he replied back, doing his best to keep the bite out of his voice, tapping the markings they’d documented thoroughly on the large parchment sheets in front of them. “You get the rest? That Azriel had sent over?”

“Of course I did,” Amren snorted in dismissal, as if bored and offended. “There isn’t anything new to go over, not until Helion sends word it’s safe to travel to his court. Go, talk to her. You’ve got at least until tomorrow before we’re gone.”

“Are you bringing Varian with you?” He asked, hoping to change the subject. With the way her expression darkened, he wondered if that had been the wrong question to ask.

“No,” she finally replied, the response a mere growl. “He is going with the squadron to spy on Hybern.”

Lucien’s eyebrows raised briefly in surprise – he hadn’t expected _that_ answer. “And leave his cousin unguarded?”

Amren shrugged, glancing down at the symbols. He wondered then, if it had something to do with their relationship and less to do with the fact that her lover was supposed to be the Captain of Tarquin’s personal guard. Knowing she’d only take the questions as an opportunity to highlight his own miserable predicament, he finally mustered up the kindest words he could, regretting beginning the line of questioning in the first place. “Tell him to be careful.”

“Of course,” Amren replied, her tone both sharp and dismissive. He stood, rolling his shoulders and reaching for the jacket he’d discarded across the back of a chair hours before, and headed for the door. He needed air.

“I’ll be at the tavern at the western end of the market square,” he replied, watching her nod from where she continued to stare at the symbols, her expression still dark and unreadable. “I’ll bed at the Inn close by as well, if Helion sends word.  I’d like to be gone by first light, if that’s possible.”

She nodded once more, still staring at those parchments, so he took the dismissal for what it was, hurrying from the room as he tugged his jacket into place. The manse was quiet now, everyone from earlier having gone, and he felt the tension drain from his shoulders. He hadn’t wanted to speak up as much as he had in the earlier meeting, not enjoying feeling every eye of those he’d begun to loathe on him, but he’d done what he needed to do when he saw how the others had been affected, even his closest friends now, Vassa and Jurien.

As he stepped through the front doors of the manse, nodding to the sparse guards left from the earlier meeting, he tilted his head back and looked up on a whim.

 _There,_ against the backdrop of a lamp-lit window, was what had kept tugging at him all evening. She didn’t notice him, or if she did, she didn’t look. She simply sat there, at the windowsill, studying the moon and weaving small blooms into her hair. He swallowed, feeling that ache from before return a thousand-fold, and felt himself wishing she’d look down.

 _Notice me,_ his thoughts raged. _Just once, I wish you’d **notice me.**_

As if on cue, she stopped weaving flowers in her hair, freezing. Her head snapped down and those soulful eyes of hers met his. She blinked, her eyes widening, and she swallowed, reaching out and placing a hand to the glass as she stared at him.

Even though he didn’t want to, he knew the bitterness of what he felt creeped into his face, remembering how she’d turned away from him – over and over and over again – months past, when she wouldn’t even look at him without cringing. This time, she cringed once more, tucking her hand back as she flinched, and he swore loudly, turning and stalking off as quickly as he could, ignoring the heaviness of her eyes, and the prickly fire of awareness it brought to life underneath his skin.

 _Don’t worry, Elain,_ he thought with acerbity, _I’ll be out of your hair soon enough, and you’ll never need to see me again._

* * *

 

Nesta sat, staring at the drawing in front of the small gathered crowd in Cassian’s cabin. All the others from before had shown to her continued surprise, and when her and Astra had come down the hall from Cassian’s room, she’d greeted them with curt nods and they in turn had measured her worthiness and seemed accepting of whatever they’d seen in her glacial return stare.

“You saw them here?” Astrid asked her son, watching as Hammund continued to bite on remnants of the lunch his mother had prepared for the room while Nesta and Astra had changed. He nodded, tipping his head to the side, then pointed with his fingers and relayed what he’d seen that day he’d ventured into the woods, near the cabin he’d been staying in with his mother, when Torin had gone missing. Knowing what they did about Lofoten, Nesta worried his Stepfather was amongst those killed, but chose not to voice it as the boy went on.

“The male that helped me, he gave me documents for General Cassian,” Hammund commented, a frown tugging at his lips, “I dunno what they said, but those caves he went into, they had others..I think they were in chains, but I’m not totally sure.” Suddenly, his eyes welled up, and he sniffled. “I’m worried what this means for Step-Papa. Is he hurt?”

Enar, Nesta and Astra traded glances, while the others in the room shifted on their feet uncomfortably as Astrid reached for her son, scooping him up into her arms. She glanced at the others, then took her son down the hall, towards Nesta’s rooms that she instructed her were available, only for Enar to clear his throat and study the maps once more.

“Right, so—” He continued, ignoring the small soft sobs of the boy carrying from the room, along with the soft murmurs of his mother, before glancing back at Nesta and the others. “You know this means we’re probably going to run into that Alchemist, if what you state is true. You sure you’re ready for that?”

Annoyed he’d even have to ask, remembering how Stian’s power had felt when he’d tried taking her against his will, she leaned forward, feeling her power lick at her skin, coming to the surface. She’d eaten gluttonously earlier and no one had questioned her why, even as they gave her odd looks. Now, all but glowing with that same power she’d shown Devlon, Enar flushed and nodded, muttering out tactics and positions, as they all went back to studying the cave system the boy had found.

The others, of who’s names she hadn’t bothered to learn, had interjected a few notable ideas and Nesta nodded, glancing to Astra. She had been quiet through most of this, staring at the drawings as their plans continued to firm up: Astra would take the main cave, hoping Stian wouldn’t jump and kill her, being his sibling, and Nesta would lead one small sect of scouts, Enar the other, and follow Astra through a trace stone Enar had managed to find, hoping to find Stian and the Alchemist he was working with, bringing them back to Rhysand if possible.

“You ready for this?” She posed Astra with the same question Enar had posed to her. The others kept talking, having not heard her soft question, but Enar turned, glancing between the two of them.

Astra looked up, startled, and nodded. “I’m with you both,” she murmured back, glancing between Nesta and Enar both, reaching over and squeezing their hands. “Until the end of the line.”

“Until the end of the line,” they both echoed back, casting her a faint smile. Astra smiled back, squaring her shoulders, and Nesta looked around at the others, figuring they’d planned enough and it was nearing noon.

“Alright.” She called out, gathering the attention of the group. “Time to leave. Serious interest only, please. Let’s meet up at the outskirts of the village, due north, in ten.” Reaching out, using a small filament to the drawings they’d made, she let her power light the documents and send them up into flames. “Let’s end this.”

Everyone nodded and Nesta turned, heading to the door. She watched Enar turn, seeing Astrid standing at the edge of the hall, concern but understanding in her face, and watched as he murmured something in her ear. She nodded, reaching out and touching his shoulder, then drifted back down the hall, towards where her son most likely rested.

“She’s going to stay back, in case the General comes back,” Enar supplied, strapping his blade to his hip as he readied himself. “Hammund wore himself out crying and the boy needs rest. She’s been told to tell Cassian what we’re up to – but not until after we’ve found Stian.”

Nesta nodded, figuring as much. “Alright.” She studied him, wondering if he was rethinking the risks he was about to take, going against his commanding officer’s orders. “You know, Enar, you don’t have to do this, you—”

“ 'End of the line,' remember?” He suddenly barked back, glancing between her and where Astra stood, a few feet away. Nesta swallowed, but didn’t flash the smile that wanted to curve on her lips, her heart wrenching painfully at how this soldier had wormed his own way into her heart as well. “I meant those words, Nesta. I’m with you—with you both. Now, let’s do this.”

Turning, they headed out the door.

* * *

There, at the top of the rooms, the shadows finally breathed, moving and adjusting in the darkness, after the crowd in the cabin had left. They writhed, commanded by a being more powerful than they could withstand, and felt the boy and his mother at the end of the hallway, deeming them of no concern, leaving them be.

Soon, they disappeared, reappearing at the edge of the forest, on the southern end of the village, flocking to a man dressed all in black. Beside him, stood Josias.

Josias swallowed, studying his companion as his head tilted, looking over his form with a sharp lethalness that made him uneasy. He wasn't sure how long the other Alchemist had been spying on him, or why he'd taken such a sudden keen interest in the dealings with the Inner Circle or it's Spymaster, but now, as his plans began to finally bear fruit, teetering towards an unforseen end - one with him gaining knowledge of the Fae that he felled, or one with him finally owning the Cauldron-touched one he craved to suddenly have - he began to grow nervous, wondering if the others of the Order had begun to plot against him and develop their own plans for taking over Prythian.

“She is coming, just as I planned, so not all is lost, if you’d just—”

Suddenly, he couldn’t talk, clawing at his throat as he struggled to breathe. Endless blackness swirled around him, choking him, and he tried to use his own magic to counter the male's own, but -- couldn't. The man at his side shifted, leaning forward, and Josias felt his fear and anger rise at the sense of amusement rolling off the man in unspoken waves. 

 _Hard to fight back when one cannot speak,_ the male said - all without talking. Joasias stilled, his eyes widening, wondering how his companion had gained such a power. _Spell casting without summoning the words from his mouth? How...?_ He wondered also how it was that he could hear him so thoroughly when it didn’t seem like the man talked at all.

 _You have one chance to fix this,_ his companion hissed, and Josias realized it was the shadows the man commanded that talked on his behalf. Briefly, he bucked and shuddered in fear, wondering if the others knew how powerful he’d become. _Get the female, the Cauldron-touched one, and return home. If you fail, my pets know what to do._

Right then, he felt the kiss of a shadow on his cheek, and wrenched out a cry as a burning sensation scalded his skin. Suddenly, the wet coppery scent of his own blood met his nostrils. A hissing noise of chuckles hit his ear – _the shadows again,_ he realized – and then with a blur, he was standing in the caverns, alone and amongst the corpses he’d rendered here, all in an effort to grant that mad fool Stian enough power to take down the Night Court’s Inner Circle, and saw what the shadowed man had left for him.

There, sprawled across the sandy stone floor, was a dead young Illyrian warrior – free of markings, telling him he’d been killed before being harvested of his power. That wasn’t what worried him, though, it was what he held in his palm – a trace stone.

Turning, he straightened, and used his power to will himself across the cavern system, towards Stian.

It was time to go to make their move, now that Nesta had chosen to come to them.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adding one more chapter to this fic - these conclusions get wordy, yo. Breaking up what was supposed to be one chapter into two, since I'm skirting up against nearly 10K words and anything longer than that I feel is absurd. I will have this wrapped up soon (as in: days). The work is written, I'm just going over it with a fine-toothed comb before I post, making sure I've resolved as many plot points for this fic and sprouting the teasers for the others adequately.
> 
> Thanks for being patient with me! I wanted the work to be at a certain level before I felt comfortable posting and the end of March got crazy for me.

Nesta crouched low, flanked by the others, keeping her eyes trained overhead. Above them, hovered something she hadn’t expected to see – a dozen or so of Dawn Court’s aerial soldiers. She remembered enough from that one meeting she had attended with all the other High Lords to recognize one of the Peregryns when she saw one. They were unmistakable: Tall, statuesque, and yet somehow also frightening all at once, resembling what the mortals called _Angels_. Now, they dotted the horizon in pairs of two, strung across the sky in broad daylight, two rows deep. Not a large number of them, but more than she’d ever expected to spy in the mountainous skies of Illyria all the same. Some were high up enough that they began to blur with the misty clouds curling around the mountain caps above, telling her they had an expansive view of the ground below, so they’d have to be careful if they wanted to enter the caves undetected. _This is a complication I wasn’t expecting._ She was at least grateful that those next to her didn’t seemed phased at the sudden appearance of foreigners in the mountains of Illyria, their expressions one of blank eagerness, telling her they were ready to follow orders as they knelt beside her in the thick powdery snow that softened the rocky terrain underneath their feet.

“Any idea why Thesan’s men are here?” Murmured Enar, to her right. She shook her head, loosening her grip on the pine branches she’d plucked to the side to take a better look at the forest below, now that she knew that they had company. Somewhere, somehow, she knew Cassian and the others were there, gathering forces, even if she couldn’t spot them from where they’d hidden themselves. She guessed that Rhysand had requested assistance – another thing that surprised her, as he was usually too scheming or proud to ask for help, from the little bit she’d gleaned of his attitude – but she wasn’t deterred from finishing what they’d come here to do. Motioning for the others to back up and duck low, making sure not to draw attention to themselves, she glanced to the others to see their reactions once more to the sight of the Peregryns in the sky. Just like a few moments ago, no one looked ready to leave. That gave her the confidence to review their plans in her head and re-evaluate what to do next.

Obviously, something drastic had changed since Cassian had left her this morning. There was no way that outsiders of any king, even those belonging to allies, would be surveying the mountains so openly without the Night Court's permission. She didn’t know much about warfare, but she knew enough. They were here to infiltrate the same caverns her group was about to, remembering that Cassian had the papers the boy Hammund had brought to him, marking up the same caverns they were now sitting outside. They didn’t have very long to make their next move, so it had to count, if she wanted to reach Stian before Cassian did. She couldn't help but also remember the sickly way his power felt against her skin, determined to find him before the General or the Spymaster.

“No,” she replied back in a hushed tone, glancing over to Astra. Her friend’s expression was subdued, but she could read the unease and surprise there, simmering just below the surface, as her eyes trailed one of the closest of Thesan’s winged warriors. Didn’t they realize that hovering that close to the mountain would alert the insurgents inside that they were about to be discovered? Maybe they didn’t care, hoping to draw them out eagerly into battle. _Dammit,_ her thoughts churned, worry settling deep in her bones. _Didn’t Cass listen to me when I told him about Stian’s powers? It could be a slaughter._

She realized, briefly, that Cassian would be arguing the same to her, but she ignored it. She had a piece of the cauldron with her, buried deep, where she’d never let it truly shine. This moment – this battle ahead – was the reason she had it. She could _feel_ it in her blood – _this is why I was meant to take that small sliver of its power. To teach these Alchemists, and anyone that threatens those I love, that there would be a reckoning to be had if they try to take them away from me._

Nesta waited for Astra’s gaze to meet her own, curious what her friend had to say about the appearance of Dawn soldiers. “Did Azriel or Cassian clue you in that this was going to happen when they saw you this morning?”

Astra shook her head, glancing behind her at the others. When they’d covered the basics of their plan back at Cassian’s cabin, Nesta had made sure to avoid mentioning that Astra was Stian’s sister, just insinuating that she was a critical piece in getting the instigator of this civil unrest to communicate with them and hopefully avoid bloodshed. So far, no one amongst their group had said anything or hinted at knowing the truth and Nesta was keen to keep it that way. From the way Astra’s eyes flickered between her and Enar, they were on her level and played into her vague line of questioning. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the others, she just wanted them focused on the job at hand – protecting her, Astra, and Enar as they tried to head off Stian. “Nope,” she murmured back. “Just asked me about Lofoten and if I’d heard or thought of anything that might have started all this. You know as much as I do.”

Nesta nodded, suspecting as much, hunkering down and facing the others. “Right, good. So – avoiding detection is key. It’s critical we get to the leaders of this group before they do. They've close, if Dawn is flaunting their position so openly. Like I told you, Alchemists are involved, the very same individuals that abducted High Lady Spring. I know you've heard the rumors of what they can do - it's true, I'm afraid to say. They’re infiltrating our homes, spreading discourse, and using our own insecurities to attack us from within. We need to see what it is they’re doing before the armies enter into a battle that could very well play out like the war below the wall. Use your _heads,_ folks, but don’t put yourself at risk. This is for the betterment of Illyria, not your own agenda, are we clear?”

The others nodded and she rounded to Enar with a glance, noting he was once more studying the Peregryns dotting the sky.

“You still feel good about this?” He asked, glancing between her and Astra, keeping his tone low enough it didn’t carry as the others readied themselves, preparing for their orders. Did they really have a choice now? Nesta caught his eye, slowly beginning to nod, letting him know that – no matter what – the option to return to the cabin was long past, they had to do this. Motioning with her fingers and splitting the group up into smaller teams, Enar slowly squared his shoulders, making her swallow down a lump of emotion as he threw his silent support her way, also readying himself to leap into action.

“Scouts in the back, observe the sky. Whistle and let the others know if the Peregryns take note of you. Use the cloud cover as best you can to avoid detection. Cover your tracks,” she murmured, motioning to the moving puffs of mist above, while drawing the points of entry into the snow with her finger to show them again where they were meant to go and who to follow. “But under no circumstance is the aim to put yourself in harm’s way. If things go south, I fully expect you to run out of these caverns. If Night or Dawn spot you—” Nesta sucked in a breath, waiting until everyone’s eyes were focused on her, “—tell them I forced you to join me.”

She didn’t want to risk Cassian’s wrath, knowing he would immediately disagree with what she was doing, but she’d been the one person so far to see Stian’s powers firsthand and knew - deep down - that Cassian’s very life could be at risk if she didn’t try and head him off first. In her mind’s eye, she envisioned an enraged Cassian, realizing she had left the safety of the cabin he’d brought her to, and went against his wishes, choosing to interact directly with the enemy first hand. _Please forgive me,_ her inner thoughts whispered, even as she kept that bond inside her - linked to the male she loved - utterly silent, in the event he heard her whispered pleas inside her head. _Please_ _know that I do this because I love you._

Immediately, she watched a half dozen pair of eyes widen and narrow all at once, absorbing what she just said. This was another thing she had to take on her own – the potential cost if they were discovered. _It is nothing I haven’t weathered before. I am Nesta Archeron, the unwanted sister. Let me take that risk._ Briefly, she was surprised at the amount of faces that looked prepared to argue, but when she met their gazes unflinchingly with her own, she was able to smother the protest brewing on their lips, even if they looked disgruntled at the command. Astra and Enar looked especially ready to argue, their mouths opening as objections flickered across their expressions, but she held up a hand, forcing them to silence.

 _“I mean it,”_ she droned on, keeping her voice strong, fortifying her declaration with her strongest icy mirage yet - her face going stone cold - offering them a faint mocking smirk as she met the eyes of each of them. A flurry of emotions swept across their faces as she paused on each of them, surprising her again. Somehow, along the way, she’d earned their respect – something she hadn’t expected. What were they feeling, thinking? Surprise? Respect? Shock? She didn’t know, she only needed them to follow her command.  “I’m used to the hate. I can handle it. You came here, against Night Court wishes, to help me take down a deranged individual. Any signs of the Alchemist, any signs that you’re in trouble--I will not risk your lives for that and expect you to retreat to where the Night army is— _is that understood?”_

One by one, they nodded. She held Enar and Astra’s gazes the longest, seeing their mutual anger and frustration simmering in the depths of their eyes, but eventually, when she refused to break their stare, they too nodded and looked away, shuffling in the snow. She motioned again for who was to follow who, passing Astra the trace stone Enar had found. Astra took it, tucking it into a small pocket in her gorget that clung tightly to her neck, giving Nesta another concerned frown as they began to peer back at the caverns, but before her friend could say anything, her companions were moving, forcing her and Enar both to break away from her and position themselves in front of the respective tunnels they would be tracking.

Nesta ignored the heaviness of their gazes, watching the skies for signs that they were being observed, willing her attention elsewhere. Dawn soldiers flickered in and out of the misty clouds above and as Nesta counted, timing when was the best moment to move. Just as quickly, it was time, and she raised a hand, holding it in place for a moment, then sliced it through the air once they were once more covered in clouds. _Go – **now.**_

All at once, they split and sprinted across the snow. Nesta glanced behind her, unsheathing the dagger Azriel had commissioned for her, her pulse ricocheting in her ears as they moved, praying they ran fast enough to beat the time needed to avoid detection. At the last second, before they’d left Cassian’s cabin and came here, she’d strapped the blade Stian had made her across her back, and even now, its weight pressed against her spine and made her all the more eager to be the one to find him first. She knew, in the very marrow of her being, something was at play here that went deeper than a mere civil unrest – this was _personal_ for Astra’s brother- and she wanted to know _why._ The way he’d attacked her the night he'd brought the very blade she now carried on her continued to play in the background of her mind, over and over, until she was certain some stronger hatred motivated Astra’s brother to the acts he’d committed, something more powerful than mere discontent at how the Inner Circle was governing them.

As she ran, snippets of that fateful conversation they’d had right before he attacked her flickered into the forefront of her mind. She mulled over the words he had said as she panted softly, keeping her pace as fast as she could while keeping her footing sure and silent.

 _You’re mated. To General Cassian,_ he’d said _._ Why was that important?

 _My father was a war chief,_ he’d continued. Why was he telling her this? She darted her eyes to her peers, hustling closer and closer towards the opening up ahead, not sparing a glance to the skies, knowing their tail was doing that. She just had to get there.

Once more, Stian’s voice entered her thoughts. _He was feared, in his own way, in the small village he ruled, feeling like he was meant for greater things with greater people, but it wasn’t to be so._

Breathing shallowly, she kept moving, even as her muscles began to burn. _He had his pick of warriors, of women and wives, but the one he really wanted, was a female of low birth. I would see him, staring at her, as she smiled his way across the town square, and knew what they had been doing. Astra didn’t see it, my mother didn’t see it, but I did._

Suddenly, they hit the last few paces before the cavern’s opening. They’d almost made it. She blotted out everything except the need to _move,_ duck for cover, and regather to see if the Peregryns responded to their sprint across the small stretch of uncovered land.

Once she was inside, she noted how the trailing female had covered their tracks – her wings were open slightly, dragging faintly along the powdery snow, dispersing the imprints their boots had left behind. As she entered, Nesta crouched behind a large rock, and they waited – catching their breath. When she looked, Enar’s group and Astra’s group seemed to have reached the caverns at the same time – there was no trace of them or their footsteps in the packed snow. Glancing up, they waited, seeing if their plan had worked.

No response from the Peregryns – no shouts or horns blaring. They’d made it. 

Standing, she questioned the others, made sure they drew their weapons, ready and poised for the next phase of their plan – finding Stian as they tracked Astra’s trace stone through the caverns ahead.

“We’re clear,” Nesta murmured, glancing to the female who’d held up the middle of the line, the one who had volunteered to cast the simple spell that would allow them to track Astra via the stone she’d hidden on her person. “You good to cast?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, closing her eyes and whispering something that made Nesta’s ears pop. Suddenly, she felt a tugging sensation in her middle – the magic the female had spoken tugging at her senses, telling her without words which direction Astra was. Gripping the small dagger tighter in her grip, she turned and they followed, beginning their descent into the darkened cavern system below.

* * *

 

“So, you killed our own. Explain.”

He knew why, of course – something he’d been able to sense ever since the Alchemist had granted him unnatural powers and Jeric had appeared in front of him. He idly wondered if the Alchemist realized the unforeseen consequences to siphoning power and fueling his basic abilities. They’d enhanced them, expanded them, and now he found himself capable of things he’d only wished for once upon a time. Maybe later, when Jeric wasn’t so eager to relay his exploits, he’d show the Alchemist he wasn’t a mere warrior now, but something more.

As he watched Jeric hold up the knife in his hand, still stained bloody, his armor matted with spatters of crimson, he could feel the shift in the young male. The boy’s manic glee was almost contagious and he wanted to smile, but he suppressed it. He wanted to hear from the young male’s mouth what exactly he had done, regardless of the picture his composure painted.

“They lacked—faith. They were going to rile up the others, tell them to abandon our plans. Silencing them was the only choice, if you expect to take on General Cassian’s command with steadfast soldiers. They’re going to retaliate for what occurred in Lofoten. They have to, if they want to keep the support of the other Chieftains and villages. I know their absence will be noticed, but we can pass it off as they were captured or killed during the raid – it doesn’t matter as long as we control the narrative. I dumped their bodies in the grave tunnels. Anyone dumb enough to stumble upon them will also be taken out.”

Finally, he seemed to hesitate, but when Stian cast him a speculative glance, the boy went on. He almost smiled, but he wasn’t ready to give away his clear approval at what the boy had done. He had needed another to drive his plans home, even if he cared nothing for what it brought the boy in the end. He had no illusions, the male would most likely not survive the day, but he didn’t care, as long as he got to bury his blade in his bastard brother’s heart, preferably while raping his female.

“I’ve done you a service, Stian,” Jeric sputtered out, standing taller, his eyes gleaming and narrowing all at once. “No one else has done what I have for you, gathering soldiers, leaving home, leading the slaughter on the unworthy at Lofoten, keeping the others in line – at any cost. I expect to be given a reward for taking the initiative. Grant me what you promised me.”

Stian stared at the young Illyrian in front of him, the younger male’s spine growing steely, making him rise as tall as his head and shoulders would allow – still far beneath Stian’s towering form, but he had to admire the way the boy’s entire mannerism shifted, akin to a predator starving for a feast. _So, you finally got hungry, I see._ “Demanding, aren’t we?” He taunted the boy, watching Jeric’s lips tighten as he stepped forward, about to argue.

Finally, unable to resist showing his amusement and approval at what he saw in the boy, Stian grinned ferally, stepping up to meet Jeric’s sudden bravado, still taunting him, but watching wariness and eagerness clash in the boy’s eyes. Just as he suspected, the young male was still too frightened of him to outright challenge him, his eyes flashing as he slowed to a stop, but he admired how the young male continued to meet his stare dead on.

 _Not bad,_ he realized, tilting his head to the side as he glanced over the appearance the young warrior painted. The blade he’d felled his peers with still rested in his palm, clutched tightly in his fingers, dripping crimson in the flickering light of the small fire at Stian’s back. He wondered what it was that had finally solidified what he’d susppected was in the boy all along – something must have triggered the change – but the longer he stared, the more he realized it didn’t matter in the end, so long as he got what he wanted.

“Very well,” he began, pausing as he felt a violent brush of magic at the back of the cave, turning and narrowing his eyes as he saw Josias appear, stepping towards the flicker of the fire. The mortal, once someone Stian admired, even somewhat feared, was now a mere annoyance in his presence. Still, he didn’t want the mortal aware of his internal changes, alerting others of his kind of the potential aftereffects of the siphoning spell – some of whom he _did_ still fear – and went quiet to see what the mortal had to say. He only appeared lately whenever he wanted something of Stian, or to remind him of their agreement and how Stian was failing to satisfy his end of the bargain in the Alchemist's eyes.

“The cauldron-born approaches,” the Alchemist hastily interrupted, his features tight and drawn, something flickering in the depths of the mortal’s eyes that made Stian’s instincts tighten, fully alert that something was off. Whatever had the Alchemist spooked made him wary. Was it the one he’d been sensing recently – the one he could feel, yet couldn’t see, clouded in darkness and shadow? He wasn’t sure, but didn’t want to ask, not wanting to alert the mortal that he was beginning to suspect that Josias, and potentially himself and his plans - while once critical to the Alchemist Order’s end goals - was on a tethered string that had slowly begun to resemble a noose these past few weeks. As long as his brother died first, it mattered little what happened to Illyria or Prythian after to him. “She makes her way here, and so does the Night armies still loyal to the High Lord and his peers. It seems, Lord Haavik, you are out of time. We need to move now. Give me what you promised.”

Stian went still, using that power the Alchemist had granted him to _listen,_ feeling for the shift in the mountains beneath him, in the stars and skies above him. Just like with Jeric, he could _sense_ the change in the undercurrent around him, unable to manipulate it directly, but it had become a very useful tool over the past few days. He would confirm this man's claims before he chose to act.

Just then, he felt it. They were no longer alone. He could feel the placement of his own men - but now, as he focused, there were so many more, mostly along the forested floors below the caverns, but a few hovered in the skies above. What tickled him was the small, spattering of sprinting feet heading his way down the caverns up ahead. Narrowing his focus, he felt her approaching, knowing who it was. _It’s her, I can feel it._ Stian grinned, praying his brother was amongst those outside, so when he captured her and took her against her will, he would be close enough to feel the acidic bite of her fear, panic and terror.

“You’re correct,” he murmured, unable to resist commenting with what he confirmed with his senses, now that he had noted the Alchemist’s buried unease. He was no longer the most powerful, fearful thing in the room. It amused him, watching the Alchemist stiffen in shock, his eyes narrowing as realization that Stian was more than he'd been playing at flickered across his face. Stian waited, watching, wanting to know if Josias would say anything about what he'd just stated. When he didn't, Stian was once more ready to chuckle and be rid of the fool.

 _When you perfected that siphon spell, it never **once** occurred to you that the effects of that spell would be far reaching? _By the look of surprise in Josias’ eyes, clearly it hadn’t. _What a misstep on your part, Alchemist_.

He glanced back to Jeric, who had begun bouncing in agitation on the balls of his feet, body twitching eagerly for whatever Stian would demand next, clearly not pleased at their interruption by the mortal. He could see the boy’s hunger levels continue to rise within him and decided to test him – and the strength of the mortal’s survival instincts.

“As I was about to say, before I was interrupted,” he began, watching as Jeric steered his eyes back his way, not looking back at the mortal, uncaring if the Alchemist was too daft to note the blood and gore dripping from the young male like spittle from a predator’s eager fangs, “You want what I can give you? Pass this one last test.” He tilted his gaze back to Josias, watching the mortal tense, eyes widening. He merely grinned, wanting to watch the shock and surprise – and ultimately fear – shape the man’s expression, once he caught on to what he was about to do with the young male. Jutting his chin towards the Alchemist, he smiled. “Kill the mortal and I’ll grant your request.”

 _“What?”_ Josias hissed, his eyes narrowing, as his power flickered to life between his fingers, a string of strange contorted words whispering out of his mouth in reaction. It was just as Stian predicted; outrage warred with shock at first as he finally seemed to notice the threat that Jeric was to him, backing up a few steps, raising his fingers in warning – as if that would stop an Illyrian with a goal. “You think you can dispose of _me?_ I am the reason you’re powerful enough to even stand a chance of defeating those you want to take down!”

Jeric’s eyes gleamed and he gripped the dagger tighter, flaring his wings, now that Stian had settled one last test on his shoulders to give him what he wanted. The boy switched his attention solely on the Alchemist, Stian merely leaned against the cavern wall, watching the show unfold in amusement. The emotion on Josias’ face, as he took in Stian's amusement and the boy's seriousness, shifted from outrage and shock, to wariness, then finally to fear. Yes, the Illyrian boy was weaker than most of his kind, still young – but even an Illyrian’s youth outpaced a grown human’s fragile countenance. Josias was gifted in many ways, crafty and scheming, but was he strong enough in magic and quick enough in wit to defeat the hunger now riding the boy? He supposed soon, he’d have his answer, watching the battle that had begun between the two.

The Alchemist growled and lashed out, his magic swirling about the room in a clash of brightness and singing smells, ripping at Stian and Jeric’s skin with the unbridled potency there, but he noted the boy ignored the pain, staring at Josias with a kindred type of demanding lust Stian recognized and respected.

 _Ah, there it is, the fear I wanted to see._ Just as the mortal lashed out, Stian saw it, clear as sunlight breaching the sky: pure panic coating the mortal’s features, as the boy ducked, rolled, and lashed back in response. As he suspected, the mortal was quick, but physical prowess would win in this fight over mental acuity.

Josias jerked back, trying to sidestep Jeric’s blade, but it was too late. Even as his powers bled into the young male, twisting a path of fire and scars up the boy’s side, the aim of Jeric’s dagger had cut deep, nicking a precious area of the mortal’s arteries. It didn’t seem to matter to the young male that he was now disfigured – he got what he came for, he passed the final test, and would stand to gain what he wanted. Blood sprayed, coating the walls, the boy, and himself. It seemed an oddly fitting end to the Alchemist, who staggered back, gagging on his own blood, before winnowing and disappearing, no doubt to die somewhere alone and unaided, even by the others of his kind that Stian suspected were far more powerful and had other ways of achieving what they wanted in connection to Prythian. He knew a useful tool when he saw one, and Josias had become a relic. Too bad Josias didn’t seem to note the difference.

“Now, you’re ready,” he murmured, stepping towards the boy, whistling loudly to draw one of the soldiers down the hall. As the patter of footsteps drew louder, he watched Jeric stare his way, covered in gore and blood, and when the soldier stepped inside and cursed at the sight, he was pleased that Jeric didn’t even flinch when he immediately snapped the soldier’s neck, tossing the body at the boy’s feet. “Kneel, do as I show you.”

Jeric immediately complied, and he followed suit, kneeling down and gesturing for the boy to follow his instructions. Jeric nodded, eyes alight with greed for what he was about to gain, and he showed the young male the marks to draw and the words to say.

Just like when the mortal spoke the incantations and drew the binding symbols when Stian had first began to harvest power, he watched as Jeric sucked in a sharp breath of pain when the dead soldier's power slammed into him. The boy seemed to spasm for several seconds, coughing harshly, fighting the unnatural gain of power he was absorbing, and briefly Stian wondered if he’d take to the power or reject it. Jeric surprised him, though, and grit his teeth, evening out his responses until he simply knelt rigidly, fighting against the pain Stian knew all too well came with the shift of magic absorbing into his own.

Once the boy was recovered, he motioned to Jeric to demonstrate his newfound power in the stone gracing his shoulder. He wanted to make sure it took, watching as Jeric closed his eyes, his siphon gleaming so brightly, they looked close to cracking. Stian paused him then, pleased, handing him another, watching the boy take it and strap it against his opposing shoulder, and after a few minutes of steadied breathing, sweat gleaming off his brow, it winked into existence.

 _Perfect,_ he thought, watching the boy’s eyes take in the change, a manic grin spreading across his face.  Stian couldn’t help but grin back, standing slowly and nodding in approval. “Your father is outside the caverns. Why don’t you go welcome him to the new order? Take the others. I’ll be along soon.”

Just as the boy left, he stilled, feeling the mountain once more whispering to him. It turned out, she was closer than he thought. _Eager to pick up where we left off, pretty thing?_ He chuckled then, turning and positioning him to the area of the tunnel he knew she’d come at him from, surprised to feel a zing of anticipation ripple through him. He hadn’t felt something so exhilarating in months. _I’m going to destroy you just like I did his mother, but this time – I want to make sure that bastard sees and feels **everything** as it happens._

Suddenly, he felt another, closer presence. He frowned, irritation and rage flaring up from his gut, not wanting his reunion with Nesta interrupted. _Who--?_

Closing his eyes, determined to sense _who_ it was, poised and ready for a fight, just not the one he wanted, he made himself go utterly still, not wanting to give away that he’d learned they were coming. The faster he could dispose of this one, the more time he had to prepare for the one he most wanted to take on. Whatever or whomever had found his central lair wasn’t far off – only a single pair of footsteps tingling along his senses – but he found himself still surprised he couldn’t determine _who_ it was. They had a darkness about them, the kind he felt whenever he’d noticed the Spymaster, or one of Josias’ peers, the little he’d tried studying from afar when the mortal least suspected. _What--?_

“Y-You…really are a monster, aren’t you?” Came a whisper from the darkened corridor behind him. He froze, his heart stuttering in his chest. _No…_

“They were right--about everything,” The voice continued, turning bitter and shocked, saddened. “All of it’s true, isn’t it? You—you did it. You really killed father, allowed those bastards to rape our mother, destroyed our home village, instigated a war that’s tearing our people apart. Cauldron Above, Stian --- _Why?_ ”

Hearing _that_ voice, the sudden realization that his mother had paid a price he hadn’t expected - shock stiffening his spine – he slowly turned, knowing who’s face he’d see staring back at him.

Astra took another step forward, her eyes devouring his appearance – marked in the blood of the dying mortal, a dead Illyrian at his feet, painted in the hellish language of the Alchemy that had begun to infect Prythian – and watched as shock and horror twisted her beautiful features. He wanted to scream at her, wondering why she was here, she should have been back in Devlon’s training camp, being whatever she wanted to be, but she wasn’t – she was here, seeing him as he really was now. _All those years,_ his thoughts began, splintering with rage inside his skull, _I protected you from father’s beatings, from his secrets, from his demons. It shaped me, sister, and I’m sorry you had to see how much, but I can’t go back now – I have to finish this._

He narrowed his gaze, stepping towards her. He was pleased she didn’t back away, but he noted suddenly that she carried a blade in her grip – a dagger, no doubt given to her by the Spymaster he’d witnessed her study from afar. “Why doesn’t matter now, just that I finish what I started.”

She swallowed, shaking her head slowly, as if wanting to rattle the image he must have painted in front of her from her mind, but it was too late for that.

“You’re a fucking monster, brother. You know—you know I can’t let you do this,” She whispered, adjusting her stance, drawing her blade up tight to her chest, arms tightening. He wanted to laugh, or cry - shocked at the need to raise his fists and use the very tactic father said was meant to _better_ him.  

For the first time since starting this plot, a foreign rash of emotions flickered in the back of his mind as he watched her – _pain and shame._ He continued forward, feeling that pain lick at his banked anger, sparking it once more to life, as he edged towards her. Would she really strike him? Sink her blade into him, now that she _knew?_ “What are you doing, little sister?”

“What I have to,” she murmured back, pain twisting her features, surprising him as she splayed her wings and leapt at him.

* * *

 

They hadn’t been moving long, when the unmistakable trace of death filled the air. Nesta paused, feeling the two females at her back go quiet just as she did, their collective breaths stopping just as the scent hit their nostrils. _Fuck._

Glancing back at them both, she motioned for them to be extra alert and they nodded in agreement, their eyes looking past her shoulder, into the darkness beyond, and whatever waited there for them to discover. Turning, she moved faster, more alert than before – feet quiet, blade ready – but even knowing what greeted her, she wasn’t prepared for what she stumbled upon. When they found what scented the air, Nesta and the others halted to a sickened stop when they saw the mass graveyard – body after body, thrown haphazardly and without care, drained of magic, corrupted and yet unable to decay properly, twisted features of shock and pain glaring sightlessly back at her for what felt like miles. _Oh my god…_

Behind her, the others gasped, one gagging, the other letting out a faint sob before she was able to stifle the brief noise. She’d expected some carnage, some element of warfare and what had occurred at Lofoten, but this – nothing could prepare someone to see this. She knew, of course, how Stian had taken that power in these males, twisted it and weaved it into his own, but seeing the markings and the bodies made her fear for Cassian return tenfold.

Swallowing, she sagged against the wall of the cavern, not trusting her feet yet to keep her upright to move past what they’d found, to where the stone Astra held tugged at her senses. They were close, but not quite there. Closing her eyes, she tried to will out the vision of what she’d just seen, but failed, the images of the corpses splayed across the stone floor seemingly carved into the back of her eyelids.

“Don’t touch anything,” she whispered, then took in a steadying breath, continuing forward. Forcing her attention to the end of the tunnels, feeling Astra’s stone tug her along, leading her towards the fork Nesta could begin to make out up ahead, she tried her best to ignore the bodies, but the more she noted them, the more she feared for what was to come when they finally met with up with Stian. _If all these are his sacrifices, just how powerful could he be now?_

She shivered, wondering again if his power outmatched Cassian or Azriel’s – or even her own. _I hope not. Give me strength to see this through._ Behind her, she could hear the others travelling alongside her, and as she thought to the final confrontation that lay ahead, the more the memories of _that_ night in the cabin came back to her once more. She didn’t fight them this time, like she had when they’d ran towards the entrances to the caves, knowing she needed every reflection and study of Stian’s character to understand the reasoning behind his madness. It wasn’t the actions of that night - the night he’d attacked her - that grabbed her memory, though. It was the words he’d said before he struck. Once more, they replayed in her mind.

_My father was a war chief. Feared, in his own way, in the small village he ruled, feeling like he was meant for greater things with greater people, but it wasn’t to be so._

She frowned, shaking her head as she moved, wondering why those words in particular kept calling out to her, even over the moment when he’d tried lifting her skirts, shoving his way between them. Normally, her memories of such things were blurred, glossing over words and discussion, focusing on the horrible action that was about to take place, but it seemed now, her mind wanted her to sense something – something _important._

_He had his pick of warriors, of women and wives, but the one he **really** wanted, was a female of low birth. I would see him, staring at her, as she smiled his way across the town square, and knew what they had been doing. Astra didn’t see it, my mother didn’t see it, but I did._

Suddenly, remembering Stian telling her this story darkly over the dinner table they’d shared, while he’d stared at her with a darkening obsessive aura when Astra had gone looking for Enar, she nearly stumbled, realization slamming through her so hard, she struggled to breathe. _Oh my god. No—please, no._

As if to taunt her, his voice continued in the back of her mind, further solidifying what she’d begun to suspect. Horror and shock overtook her, making it hard to breathe.

_When he found out, of course, he beat me. Endless beatings, to his **legitimate** son, when I had found out about his whore and the bastard he’d placed in her womb. He nearly killed me when he found out I told a neighboring village, who’s war chief demanded her to name her son’s progeny. She didn’t, of course, because she **loved** him._

The others paused, watching her, weapons ready, confused on why she’d suddenly paused, struggling to gather air in her lungs. _No, oh god – **No.**_ Still, the memory carried on, Stian’s words twisted and angry, like his actions, like how he’d sudden been when he’d scented Cassian’s bond on her skin, and it made her want to retch at what she realized it meant.

_Do you know what love is, Nesta Archeron, sister of Feyre Archeron, wife and mate of High Lord Rhysand? It is a **lie.**_

Suddenly, she _knew._ Knew what Stian was, like how she knew she’d taken something from the cauldron, that she knew she loved Cassian with every fiber of her being, or knew the sensation of repressed isolation, self-induced loneliness, and helplessness that she’d nurtured and clung to most of her life.

She didn’t know what to do – completely torn, shuddering at what this discovery meant – for her, for her mate. Around them, the bodies seemed to immediately become overwhelming, all scattered in varying degrees of degradation but yet not rotting, somehow the magic used to remove their innate abilities perverting the basics of decay, frozen and stopped in time. She remembered Cassian’s retelling of his own past, his nightmares, and realized now, _fully,_ what Stian was.

_Her name was Ella. She was a laundress of low birth, and a whore. That’s what they call females in my society that have a child out of wedlock. I was thrust in a war camp at a young age and she stayed in her village to work. Eventually, as I grew in power in the war camps, embarrassing the elders as I outpaced their own progenies, they pushed her to admit who the father was. She wouldn’t because she claimed she loved him and his clan would suffer if she claimed his heritage. It angered the nearby villages, because that had to mean I was the offspring of a chieftain, but none laid claim to me, and she was known by all in the Northern remote villages. They...killed her for it. Burned her at the stake._

_Somehow, Stian is ---_ She couldn’t finish the thought, it was too shocking. She often warred with her sisters, sometimes outright hating them for how they acted towards her or failed to understand her - but to outright plot their murder? It left her speechless, stunned, and shaken for how this would affect Cassian when he found out the truth. She realized that their plan was now more wrong than ever – this _couldn’t_ get out. Cassian faced enough backlash with his birth, with his hopes to change Illyria, and if it was learned that it was his own brother causing the civil unrest…

She forced her reaction down so deep, only the roar of her pulse in her ears gave away her internal panic. By all outward appearances, she was fully composed, but suddenly – she knew she had to finish this path on her own, without the females at her side. 

Turning, she whirled on the others behind her, gripping the hilt of her dagger. “You two – change of plan. Go find Spymaster Azriel and—tell him that I’ve proceeded into the caverns at my own behest and am close to alerting the insurgents that Night and Dawn are at their doorstep. He should come find me, _alone,_ and I’ll be close enough to the leader to take him out.”

The two females blinked, shifting on their feet, peering at one another before looking back at her, puzzled at her immediate change in orders. “But you said only to leave if we were in harm’s way. We haven’t been discovered, so why—”

She cut them off with a snarl, flashing them her teeth as she raised the dagger higher, allowing a filament of her power to flicker through her frame, lighting the cavern briefly with its glow. _“I said go!”_

Startled at her sudden hostility, they turned, sprinting for the cavern entrance. Once they were gone, she sagged against the side of the cavern, then crashed to her knees, sucking in a sharp breath as she realized, painfully, what Stian was – to Cassian - then suddenly, making her stiffen and stumble to her feet once more, her eyes widening - _to Astra._

_Oh, fuck. Astra…_

Turning, she sprinted down the cavern tunnel, no longer concerned with stealth. Feeling for that tug of Astra’s trace stone, she prayed she was quick enough to stop what she feared her friend would learn.

* * *

 

“For Cauldron’s sake, Mor--we’ve gone over this same plan for the past hour,” Cassian gritted out, staring across the table and into Morrigan’s amber eyes with annoyance. The War Chiefs and Dawn leaders waited outside the camp tent, giving them privacy to continue to plot over the best approach to beginning the assault on where they knew Stian was held up in the caverns they were stationed near – but the plotting had devolved into mere arguing in Cassian’s eyes.

“We outnumber them, just charge in. Azriel’s trace stone was found here,” he pointed to a portion of the outlined tunnels on the map, knowing instinctively that was where the graveyard was located. He didn’t think too hard on why that particular stone was activated, not wanting to linger on the very real possibility that another body would be there when they returned. “We know they’re near this area. The Peregryns can tell us if anyone moves out of the caverns before we’re back. I want our own people in there, this is _our_ problem first and foremost. Rhysand made it clear they’re only to engage if needed and right now, from what Zaruk told us, they’re not needed. Plus—do we _really_ want them seeing that fucking site?”

He knew how Rhysand would react if Dawn soldiers saw that graveyard. Word would get back to Thesan and the other courts would panic. Night’s reputation would be damaged. It was enough that they were here, guarding the skies, but he wasn’t ready to allow them to step foot into those caves with their own people.

“Cassian,” Morrigan sighed, shaking her head, clearly about to argue, holding up a hand when he growled, wanting to interrupt her, but he bit back his words so she could finish. “We still don’t know if that Alchemist is in there--and if he is, what kind of spells or power he’s granted to the insurgents,” She continued, her expression just as sharp as his own. It irritated him that she was right, but at this stage in the game – what choice did they have? No word had come back from all the villages their scouts had checked in on. The insurgents weren’t there – they were _here,_ in those caverns, just within their grasp. No matter what tactic they used, it would be a messy take over. He respected that Morrigan wanted to use caution, but something in his gut told him they needed to make their move— _very_ soon.

Canting his eyes towards Azriel, he waited for his friend to say _something,_ the way he always did at times like this – with some kind of indication which plan had the most merit – but he remained oddly quiet. That, more than anything, fueled his next outburst, frustration and anxiety eating at his guts.

“ _For fuck’s sake,_ Mor, we can’t just _sit here,_ we know they’re in there, and there won’t be a better opportunity to take them down, so—”

“Just let me _think_ , Cass,” Morrigan barked back, silencing him with a glower, as she stared down at the map and pieces splayed out over the drawings of the mountain terrain. Her fingertips traced the patterns of the caverns, eyes narrowed, and Cassian wondered if she was using that power of hers to track whatever truth she could gleam from Zaruk’s notes. When they found the boy, they’d thank him profusely for his help, of course. Cassian would make sure to personally bring him in front of Rhysand himself. Without his notes, they’d still be searching the immense cavern systems completely blind. Idly, he hoped the boy hadn’t risked too much, but forced his mind on other things – like beginning their attack.

Suddenly, a flap at the front of the tent drew back, making him snarl. Just as Morrigan had seemed to make a decision, her shoulders rounding, _this_ interruption had them tensing again, telling him whatever choices she’d been about to voice were once more buried. _Godsdammit._ “I thought I made it clear we weren’t to be disturbed, I—”

“Orders to speak to Spymaster Azriel, Sir,” A War Chief asked, apology written across his features. Cassian paused, frowning and glancing Azriel’s way as his friend shifted, narrowing his eyes towards the War Chief. The Illyrian pointed behind him. “Two female warriors came into camp, said they were told to speak to the Spymaster only, so I’d best get him and—”

“I don’t give a damn if Ramiel itself spoke to them, tell them to wait,” Cassian growled, turning his gaze back to Morrigan, who lifted her eyes and stared back at him. Slowly, a furrow appeared between her brows, as her eyes shifted once more to the War Chief that refused to leave.

Turning, snarling louder, he glared and opened his mouth to ask why the _fuck_ he was still in here, but Azriel stepped forward, motioning for him to bring the two females to him. Suddenly, that unease in his gut drew tighter. Why _were_ female soldiers here? Weren’t they down south, well below the starting lines, with Devlon? Briefly, his mind flickered back to talking with the male, who’d muttered that some of the females had failed to show for role call, but he’d been too busy arguing tactics of battle preparation with Morrigan and Azriel to pay it much mind. What was going on – and why the sudden interest from Azriel?

The War Chief hesitated for a moment, then nodded, stepping away from the tent, the flap dropping for a moment before two women were hustled into the tent, fully decked in battle regalia. Cassian blinked, raising his eyebrows, as he stared at the two females – females he recognized from Nesta’s training sessions.

“Speak,” he barked, even as Morrigan came forward, watching them closely, no doubt feeling them out with that gift of hers.

Neither of the females would meet his eyes, one peering over at Azriel before they both finally found their voice. The one on the right began, stumbling over her words, but they were enough to make him freeze up, his heart screeching to a halt in his chest.

“Miss Nesta led a small sect of us into the caverns, determined to find the leader of the resistance, but we lost her. We fear she’s getting too close to them, and will alert them to our presence, and she requested that the Spymaster locate her, and—”

He didn’t even bother listening to the rest, turning and digging deep in the bond, calling out to her. _Nesta? Babe? Where are you? Nesta?_ When nothing replied back, just the flicker of her side of the bond dampened and dark, as if she was purposefully hiding from him – or _worse_ – trapped with that bastard that had burned his own village to the ground, he almost felt his knees give out at the thought. He ignored the sluice of panic that tore at his insides as he tried calling out to her again. _Babe, fucking answer me! I mean it! Don’t you dare take this fucker on by yourself! **Nesta?**_

“She’s telling the truth,” he heard Morrigan speak, but he was too busy trying to get Nesta to respond to him down the bond to hear whatever Azriel muttered in reply. Suddenly, a flicker of guilt and remorse fired back at him, from deep down the bond, and he knew without a doubt Nesta had gone into those tunnels, subjecting herself to that mad man’s whims. _No, no no no no no no –_

“I’ve got to go, she’s in there, she can’t face him alone,” he started, interrupting whatever they’d been speaking of, noting the females had been ushered out quietly by the War Chief that had introduced them, marching towards the tent flap that led outside. He tilted swiftly when Morrigan reached for his arm, skirting past her concerned expression.

“Cass—” She started, but he wasn’t listening, reaching for the ties to the tent flap that would let him out. Turning, he looked over his shoulder, seeing worry set into her features. He snarled, bracing himself for the flare of pity – or slight distaste that he swore he’d seen when he’d mentioned this very thing to his best friend and High Lord – slamming down the truth in terse tones, watching her face as he spoke them. “She’s my _mate,_ Mor. We mated while you were down south. I—I _love_ her. She’s everything to me. Don’t you _dare_ try and fucking stop me.”

“I know,” she murmured, frowning, surprise shocking him as he stared. No disgust, distaste, or shock was there – and he wondered again if it was her gift that had told her of their mating or Rhysand himself. Did that mean he didn’t despise Nesta like Cass feared? Did he regret what he said? Had he overreacted? Right now, he couldn’t think about that – not when that bastard that had all but assaulted her was so close to Nesta. _Why the fuck are you in those tunnels, love? Why did you go without me? Don’t you know I’d do anything to keep you safe?_

Morrigan handed him one of her blades, continuing to surprise him when her hand lingered at his wrist, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Find her, make sure she stays safe. I’ll stay back, lead the troops with your plan. You’re right – we can’t wait. We need to move now. Just—don’t do anything stupid, alright?”

He flickered his eyes between the two of them – Azriel, standing next to Morrigan, his eyes traveling over her form, and Morrigan, stiffening, glancing Azriel’s way. As much as he wanted to hash out what this meant for the three of them and their strange stagnant predicament that hadn’t been openly discussed in centuries – nothing compared to getting to Nesta and making sure she stayed safe.

“Thanks, I’ll—” He started, but suddenly, the side of the mountain shook, and war cries erupted from all angles, flames licking up the side of the tent. “Fuck! What the hell is that?” He hissed, turning, just as Worolf barreled into the tents.

“The insurgents know we’re here, General,” the old Illyrian barked out, eyes narrowed. “They’re bringing the battle to us.”

“Then why the fuck are you talking to me?” He snarled, wings flaring, just as he felt Morrigan and Azriel winnow out of the tent, towards the noise. “Gather the men and attack. You know what to do. I don’t care what it takes – they cannot overrun us. Spare those that don’t seem engaged in the fight, take them into custody, but if they refuse to yield—take them out.”

Worolf nodded, turning and barking orders. Cassian leapt into the sky, shredding the barrier of the tent from his view until he was soaring upwards, staring out over the mountain side towards the noise of chaos. When he stared, he noted the power the insurgents had, making him still and curse. It seemed that Morrigan’s initial instinct to use caution was right, but it was too late now.

As he hovered, he watched the others below take notice of him. Morrigan’s words reached back to him, telling him he had every right to abandon his post and take after his mate. He watched Azriel winnow close to the caverns, then dart inside, and as much as he wanted to join him – he found himself hesitating, his grip growing tight on the hilt of his blade.

He remembered all that Rhysand had sacrificed for his people – becoming Amarantha’s slave, protecting Velaris, the Inner Circle, even Cassian himself. He had let Feyre go, as much as it had pained him, if it meant she was going to be happy, shuttling his own happiness aside for the betterment of those around him, even the female he wanted above all others. As he watched others seemingly waiting for him to join in below, he knew he had a decision to make.

Haul ass after Nesta and abandon his post – or trust her to keep herself safe and lead the armies as he’d been commanded to do. Choose his loyalty to his mate, or to his people. Too many eyes were on him – he knew whatever decision he made, it would determine his fate going forward. The thought of Nesta being harmed made his heart seize, but slowly it began to beat. Slow, steady – a timid start, but soon it was a roar in his ears.

Turning, he raised his blade, roared out a command – and swooped down, tearing through the insurgent enemy lines below with his own superlative power. Dawn’s Peregryns joined in, and soon – the war went from a frightening sight, to one they could win, with their General rallying around them.

 _I’m trusting you to keep yourself safe, babe. Please – **please** don’t risk your life for this bastard. Stay safe. You’re mine and I – _He slammed the hilt of his sword down, the blade Morrigan had given him slicing through an insurgent with the full wrath of how frustratingly impotent he felt to help his mate in that moment, but he knew this was best, for everyone. _I can’t live without you, Nesta Archeron._

_Come back to me._


	30. Chapter 30

“You’ve got to _stop,_ Stian!” She cried out, willing down the sob that wanted to tear out of her mouth, her throat burning with the need to. She was in a state of shock, unable to fully commit to landing a proper blow against her brother, even if she’d wanted to, slamming her dagger down but missing him by a good quarter inch. Stian, with his strength – and the addition of the Alchemist’s twisted magic that she could sense, hearing the echoing whispers of Nesta’s sobs from that night playing in the back of her mind – made her body arch in pain as he easily sidestepped her attempt to wound him, back handing her so hard, the bones in her back screamed in protest when she slammed into the opposite wall across the cavern space.

She’d witnessed what he’d done with the boy, another War Chief’s son, one he’d perverted and  twisted to his whims, like he was now. She should have turned and ran to warn the others, warn General Cassian, Nesta, Enar, or even _him,_ the Spymaster, but she’d been rooted in place, too shocked to do anything other than ask him _why_ he was doing this.

“ _S-Stop, Stian,”_ She sobbed, seeing him approach, feeling for the dagger she’d dropped in her sail across the room. Suddenly, it glinted out of the corner of her eye, several paces away from her, towards the way she’d barged in on what she witnessed. _Too far._ Twisting slightly, pulling loose the short sword Nesta had given her, she raised it just as Stian’s fist came swooping down towards her face, letting out a shriek and pain-filled sob when her brother’s expression registered.

In his eyes, stood determination and a blackness she’d never seen before, on _anyone._

 _That’s not my brother,_ her thoughts blazed in warning, just as he grunted, her sword somehow striking home, cutting deep into his forearm, blood pouring from the wound. Slowly, her eyes widened, wrenching the blade free and frantically using her wings to avoid the swing of his right foot, scrambling back with her weapon drawn for his next attack, which she knew would come.

Suddenly, a sickly green power crackled over his skin, like a frantic electric static, neither fully natural nor fully healthy, and the wound stitched itself up, leaving a dark-kissed scar in it’s place. “Going to have to do better than that, little sister,” her brother whispered, opening his wings wide – then lashing out, striking aim and launching himself at her.

She barely had time to avoid the brunt of his blow, but once again, his fists and feet still managed to strike home somehow, and even not at full capacity, she felt the blow all the way down to her bones.

“Stian, _stop!”_ She shrieked again, shocked at the sheer terror and emotion flooding her voice, making it sound small, weak, and strangled in the cavern tunnel. “ _Why are you doing this?_ Why attack Nesta? Why destroy our home? Why fight our people?”

He turned, swinging his fist, and every time she managed to dodge and parry and land a wound, it stitched itself, fueling a riddle of dark scars over his skin. He laughed, shaking his head, and she wished then she was a better fighter, or had Nesta’s tenacity, Cassian’s brute strength, Enar’s loyalty, or Azriel’s spontaneity – anything to give her an advantage. The simple fact was: She was losing. Every parry she landed, a blow of equal or more powerful force would land, and she could feel her muscles tiring, feel her face swelling where skin and tendon and muscle began to break and blood began to flow, trying to understand that it was her _brother_ doing this to her.

 _“Why?”_ He finally asked, when she feared she couldn’t lift her blade any more. He seemed to tower over her, moving so fast he seemed a blur, looming over her like some dark god, and she staggered, twisting an ankle and crashing to her knees. She forced herself not to tremble, raising the blade, watching him rant. “ _Why,_ little sister?”

“Why,” she agreed softly, her tone conveying her exhaustion and confusion and hurt, watching as something akin to madness and rage tore at his features, making him appear a demon.

“Father had his secrets, secrets I learned,” He spat, stepping forward, wrenching the sword out of her grip, when she failed once more to swing and land a death blow. “I don’t give a fuck about Illyria or the Inner Circle – but I care about _him_ and making him pay.”

“Him?” She whispered, frowning, swallowing as he tested the blade in his grip, the length of the sharp edge appearing almost childlike in his heavier hands.

“Cassian, the revered General of Illyria,” Stian rasped, sparing her not even a faint glance, too busy studying the way the blade he now held whistled in the air as he swung it over her head. She swallowed, refusing to look afraid, but figured he was seeing how fast he could end her once he got to the end of his exposition.

“He’s our father’s biggest secret, you see,” Stian suddenly crouched low, lunging forward, fisting a tight palm in her hair, wrenching at the roots until she screamed, the blade now poised at her throat. She raised her eyes when he barked at her to do so – staring into the black depths of a twisted soul she no longer recognized as her kin. She knew, of course, how father was – rough on her and her mother, probably moreso on Stian, but from what she finally saw there, in the depths of his eyes, she felt part of her heart twist and shrivel, shocked and dismayed at what most likely had driven him here. _Did father harm you, Stian? Did he hurt you? What did you do? Why didn’t I see it? Did you—protect me?_

When she heard him mention Cassian as their father’s biggest secret, she stilled, not even daring to breathe. What did _that_ mean? Slowly, his eyes went darker than even before, when it began to click in her mind, and her eyes widened. _Father’s biggest secret, father’s biggest secret—_

 _“Cauldron Above,_ Stian,” She whispered, suddenly slammed with the reality of what may have drove Stian to such bitter lengths. “He’s—he was an innocent child, our _brother_ no less. Why blame him? Why not just blame father? Shouldn’t he pay the price? Didn’t he pay, when you killed him? You _did,_ didn’t you? Kill him, that is?”

“I did,” her brother confirmed, making bile rise in the back of her throat as he continued. “I tore out his heart, like he did mine – when he beat me, left me to starve, threw me to his second in command to torment, then left me to spy on his _perfect_ son, the one he _really_ wanted, who’d been granted power, unlike me.”

She wanted to argue that Cassian’s life had not been any better than his own, remembering the rumors of what Cassian had endured when she’d trained under Devlon and with the other females back in the camp he chose to call home. Suddenly, a stone of dread settled in the bottom of her stomach and she licked her lips, forcing herself to ask the next question.

“Stian --- did you….did you have anything to do with Cassian’s mother and her death?”

Her brother’s eyes met her own and he smiled, making her jerk back as a moan of pure horror burst past her lips. _No…_ When General Cassian found out, she was as good as dead, half-sister or not. She was of a tainted bloodline, raising her eyes once more and meeting her brother’s again. He seemed amused at her disgust, beginning to laugh and draw that blade closer.

Slowly, she reached down into her boot, drawing out a thin sheath of a blade – a thin shank she’d always carried on her. Forcing herself to calm, knowing she’d probably die by her brother’s hand, knowing he and she both were beyond saving, she felt herself _wishing_ desperately she was like Azriel in that moment, able to bend and lure shadows to her side.

Thinking of the Spymaster, she had only one regret – that she hadn’t embraced him that night he’d guarded her side instead of shoving him away. She would have liked to know what his kiss felt like, what it would have been like to have his hands run along her skin, his body merging into her own.

When she felt the nick of her own sword against her neck, feeling the blood begin to flow, she met her brother’s eyes. She was surprised to see a sudden sadness there, and used that – slamming the shank upwards and into his throat. His eyes went wide, and her shank sank _deep,_ but like before – the blade purged from his skin, his blood loss began to lessen, and the wound began to seal – slowly, not quick like before, but enough that she knew she hadn’t landed a killing blow.

Just then, she felt it – the slice of the blade biting deep into her own body, and she realized urgently she couldn’t breathe. When she tried, all she tasted was the bitter copper saltiness of her own blood, her hands rising to her throat of their own accord, trying desperately to stop it and suck wind into her lungs.

Raising her eyes to his, she watched that sadness die out in her brother’s eyes, even as her own began to grow dim, until blackness fully blotted out her sight.

* * *

 

Nesta heard Azriel’s roar of rage and pain just as she turned the corner, shadows billowing and frothing like a white river rapid. She hadn’t expected him to appear so soon, but was frightened at what she saw. Azriel never once showed emotion, not even when they’d been warring down south, against Hybern and the cauldron alike. Now, he looked mere seconds from shattering. She shuddered, hating to think what had caused it, but when she turned and plowed into the Spymaster, she nearly stumbled at the bracketing pain twisting his usually calm features.

“Azriel? What—” She tried to talk, but suddenly Enar joined them, surrounded by the others he’d taken with him. When Azriel roared again in pain, clamping his hands against his skull, she blinked and shielded him, afraid again to know what the cause was. Glancing to Enar, she felt for the stone, knowing it was close, but soon they heard the rumble of soldiers marching their way.

“We’ve got this,” She barked out, glancing to where she knew Stian was with Astra, waiting for Enar to concede the hunt of her brother and hold off the soldiers coming their way. “Keep them away from us. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come back, just—”

Enar nodded, and she went to pat his shoulder, but Azriel had leapt up, grabbing her waist and hauling her against him. She shrieked, startled, and felt shadows pulse around her, pulling her into a place she’d never been – where darkness reigned and light was unwelcome.

 _You have to save her,_ he hissed without words, pulling her so hard through the ether of this place, she couldn’t do anything but nod, feeling as if she was suffocating. _Save her, Nesta. She’s—she’s my—_

Almost immediately, another altogether different darkness surrounded them, making Azriel stumble and twist, and she was wrenched loose from his grasp. She screamed, reaching for that power within her as a defensive mechanism, and whatever it was - it reacted badly to the glow from her skin. Without preamble, they were slammed into the stony floor, and when Nesta opened her eyes to adjust to her new surroundings, she was shocked at what she saw.

Astra, dead eyes vacant, her brother both sobbing and cursing, using her own blood to draw the same patterns she’d witnessed down the hall onto her beautiful skin. A scream welled up from somewhere, piercing her ears, and she realized it was her own, even as Azriel leapt up at the sight of Astra, flaring his wings wide, roaring in that familiar rage and pain she’d heard from before, slamming into Stian and interrupting whatever he’d been about to do.

“Astra, no—No, no—Please, you can’t—” Suddenly, she held up her trembling hands, crawling across the floor to her friend, her _best_ friend – the one female who’d looked past her reputation, past her icy exterior, and learned to love the woman underneath – Azriel’s broken pleading registering.

_Save her._

She could save her, she just had to—

 _“You!”_ Stian roared, reaching for her, even as Azriel slammed the hilt of his dagger into Stian’s gut, wrenching upwards. Blood spewed, Stian’s guts seemed to unravel and fall, but that sickly power she remembered began to slowly peel away the damage, keeping him alive as Azriel continued to hack at him like a male possessed.

“Me,” she replied in a hiss of a whisper, forcing down the pain of the sight of her dead friend, narrowing her eyes as she slowly raised herself to her feet, ignoring that she was coated in the grime of the stone floor, mixed with Astra’s blood. She reached behind her as he inched closer, somehow able to hold his own against Azriel, grabbing the hilt of the blade he’d made her as his eyes steadied on her. Suddenly, with a burst of sickly green, he threw Azriel clean across the room, the Spymaster launching to his feet, but not quick enough, Stian suddenly pressing down on her, his fingers wrapping around her throat.

She gagged, feeling Cassian begin to slam against his side of the bond, as if sensing her struggle to breathe. Still, he hadn’t noticed the blade, and she kept that power inside her quiet, until he felt like he had won.

 _You took her from me,_ her thoughts choked out, feeling Azriel reach for those shadows he was so well known for, covering them both, until she saw no fire in the cavern, only the darkness and Stian’s eyes, glowing with that stolen power. _You shouldn’t have done that._

“Finally, you’re _mine._ I get to finish this. Is he listening?” Stian hissed, pressing close, grunting faintly when Azriel sunk in two blades along his spine. She stared, refusing to reply, willing down even her gags until she looked as calm as the icy protruding spike of a glacier, the rest of her hidden from view. Her power sparked inside her, burning at her insides and her heart, but she waited, patient for the right moment.

“Well, whore? Should I fuck you bloody, let him feel your pain? When he comes for me, which he will – I’ll rip his heart out like I did my father’s, and then—”

“You slit her throat,” She suddenly stated, feeling her skin begin to crackle with power. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, Azriel drawing his hands up, mere seconds from grasping Stian’s neck and twisting. He was wild, unhinged – like the feral animal she always suspected lurked underneath that calm, cool exterior he always portrayed to the outside world. Lunging forward, she jerked Stian to her, out of Azriel’s grasp, watching him snarl, but brought down Stian’s mouth to her own. “You’ll regret that.”

He misinterpreted it, of course, thinking she was surrendering. She let him.

Slowly, as his fingers bit into her throat, his thigh shoving between her legs, she raised the blade he made her as she reached _deep,_ willing every ounce of that power in her to the surface. Just as Stian opened his mouth to say something, his eyes maniacal, she gripped him harder – and let loose.

Everything went white hot – and she closed her eyes, allowing her power to reign free.

* * *

 

The moment he felt that pain, then that detonation of something so sharp and wicked from her side of the bond, he almost fell from the sky, missing his strike entirely, momentarily dizzy at the sheer intensity of what he felt from Nesta’s side of the bond.

As he slammed into the rocky terrain below, barely avoiding injuring his wings and sidestepping a blow from one of the weakening insurgents - seeing Worolf battling his son in the distance with his own forces, the older Illyrian male’s features twisted in disgust and dismay as they _slowly_ made headway against his son, who’d been notably twisted by the type of magic he’d seen and felt inside those caverns, amongst those corpses he and Azriel had discovered – he felt suddenly hollow, as if the bond was somehow _gone._

He screamed – so loud he felt his vocal chords rip, just like they had that day he’d learned of his mother’s fate. _Nesta? **NESTA?!** ANSWER ME! **NESTA!!!!!!!**_

Nothing answered back. Nothing whispered to him, telling him she was there. He began to scream again, tears welling in his eyes until he couldn’t see, and he didn’t care that others saw him, Morrigan beginning to run towards him, shouting his name and mowing down those that would have taken him out if they had the chance. It hurt _so much_ and he didn’t know how to end it – if he wanted to end it, if she was gone. **_NESTA!_**

Suddenly, slowly – he felt it. A flicker, but it was there. Weak, barely able to warm her side of the bond, but it was there. He blinked, sucking in a sharp breath, feeling his ribs wince from the sudden change in his temperance as he tried to roll to his feet, feeling Morrigan’s strong hands clamp down on his wrists and haul him to his feet.

“Cass? What in the Cauldron—is it Nesta? Is she alright?”

  
“I—I don’t know,” he murmured, still in a daze, pain still radiating from his chest from where he swore, for a second, he couldn’t feel her, just an empty space of pain and desolation. “I think so, but, for a moment, she was—”

“Go to her, you’ve done enough here,” Morrigan yelled, turning and swinging her sword, pointing in the distance. “All that’s left is Worolf’s son. The rest are dwindling. We outnumber them easily, and this shouldn’t be a challenge. Worolf’s been told not to kill his son, as much as he wants to. We need to study him, take him alive. I can handle that with the others. _Go,_ make sure she’s safe, Cass.”

He didn’t ask twice, winnowing to where he felt that weak pulse of her life line along the bond.

* * *

Inside, the cavern was aglow, unlike anything he’d ever seen. Bio-luminescent spatters decorated the walls, casting the entire room in a hazy blue glow as he crashed to his knees, spying Nesta on the floor. She was dangerously thin, her hair falling out in clumps, but she was breathing.

Hands trembling, he reached forward, wanting to touch her and afraid to at the same time. Suddenly, it registered to him that he wasn’t alone, hearing Azriel muttering something in what almost seemed like gibberish, clutching a sleeping serene Astra against his side.

“What—” He tried to ask, his voice cracking as he stared at the woman beside him, shaking his head slowly, feeling over her body for broken bones. There was nothing, just that frailness he’d only seen once before, when she’d allowed him to bathe her in the tub in his cabin, all brittle bruised bones, beaten down by drink and Devlon’s fists and the world’s large dose of cruelty. “What happened? _Fucking hell,_ what happened to her?”

Azriel looked up, meeting his gaze, his own briefly flaring in pain, but quickly subdued, back to the calmness he was known for, the woman Nesta had befriended clutched tightly in his arms. “She saved her,” Azriel began to say, looking down at Astra with something akin to desperation in his gaze. “She killed him and saved her.”

Cassian blinked, looking past Azriel and Astra’s prone form, to what lay beyond. There, several feet away, was a corpse – nearly turned to ash and dust. He reared back in shock, suddenly understanding what she’d done. Astra must have been killed, and Stian – with all that power – had begun to kill her. Nesta had unleashed that sliver of power she’d stolen from the Cauldron, and it had decimated him, restoring Astra, and vastly damaged herself in the process. Glancing around, the blueish bio-luminescence in the room began to fade, even as her skin began to glow in turn.

Lifting her, saying nothing, he grunted for Azriel to follow and winnowed her as far as he could reach with his weakened body, using flight and feet alike to drag her to a healer’s tent down south.

* * *

“She’ll wake up,” he heard over his shoulder, lifting his head, from where he’d been staring at her slowly repairing form, even though she slept like death – even if it was a peaceful one, his hand clutching her own.

He hadn’t slept in days, only camping at her bedside, even going as far as sleeping on the floor when the healers needed the space in the room to work on her. They hadn’t seen anything like her case before, and it took several days of trial and error to find a remedy that began to restore her form. Still, she hadn’t moved, hadn’t responded to his pleading down the bond, just remaining that steadfast warm whisper he’d felt after she’d first stopped using that gift of hers. Helion had tried to remove her power, Thesan had tried to heal her, even Feyre had tried her own hand - a combination of both Thesan and Helion’s powers - and nothing had worked but the basic healing techniques to keep her form alive. The power she’d inherited from the Cauldron, it seemed, was inherently part of her now. He was beginning to lose hope she’d ever wake.

It was Rhysand, staring at him with tired eyes of his own, leaning against the doorway of the townhome he’d once lived in, giving it over to Cassian when Nesta had been deemed stable enough to move. They’d long since made up, Cassian recognizing now that Rhysand had been stressed, worried about his own impending fatherhood and the growing threat of the Alchemists and the deterioration of his own Court, latching easily onto his mating as a source of disdain.  

He didn’t reply back, knowing all too well how slippery a slope hope was. He didn’t want to voice that she’d wake, knowing there was still a chance she wouldn’t. He simply turned his gaze back to her, staring at her sleeping profile, letting out a slow, shuddering breath as Rhysand stepped further into the room, stopping at his side.

“Her sisters are here,” he murmured softly, dropping a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Please, let them see her—alone.”

He wanted to shove off Rhysand’s grip, turn and roar at him that he’d never leave her side – but they were her family and he knew they’d been waiting days to see her. He’d been inconsolable, never leaving her since they’d moved her to Velaris, and he hadn’t wanted anyone there, asking him to leave the room, in the event she woke up.

It had been a month. Now, he couldn’t help but feel hysteria edging along his thoughts, dread ready to pounce and tell him that she might not e _ver_ wake up.

Nodding, he forced himself to let go of her wrist, walking towards the door. Outside, Feyre and Elain stood by, both sisters looking subdued, darkened shadows under Elain’s eyes. Feyre had been spared the worst of it, the healthy glow of pregnancy shielding her from more intense efforts of worry, but he could see the strain around her lips as she swallowed and moved to hug him.

Stooping down, he allowed it, vaguely returning the embrace, even if he didn’t feel it. He didn’t want consolation, he wanted his mate back. “Thank you, for letting me see her,” Feyre whispered in his ear, and he heard the sob she barely held back, buried deep. “Please don’t give up on her. She’s too stubborn to die.”

He wanted to laugh, but the noise ended up sounding suspiciously like a whimper, tears flooding his eyes. He nodded, not wanting to remind her that while she may not die, she may not wake up either. Feyre pulled back, looking up into his face and cupping his cheek briefly, before going inside the room Nesta slept in.

As he moved to follow Rhysand down the stairs, Elain suddenly gripped his wrist, her nails sinking into his flesh. He stilled, raising his eyes to meet her own, and felt the prickling sensation that Elain was sensing something beyond normal immortal eyes. He hadn’t forgotten that she was a seer now, but hadn’t asked her to look into Nesta and his future’s, afraid at what she’d say.

“She’ll come back to you, once she finds her way,” Elain murmured cryptically, slowly focusing her eyes once more on him, from where they’d been staring blankly into space moments before. He blinked, his eyes widening, watching as Elain darted her eyes nervously around the hallway, wrenching her grip loose, then ducked in after her sister into Nesta’s quiet quarters. He hated to hope, but what her sister said sprouted it, and he felt his chest burn as tears choked his throat.

“Come have a drink with me,” Rhysand murmured from down below, and he turned, following the voice, relieved to have a reprieve, if even for a minute.

* * *

 Another month went by, and he’d grown restless and inconsolable once again, sitting in the shadows in her room as he watched her continue to sleep, or nursing a glass of brandy in the gathering room, staring into the dead ash of the hearth. He didn’t want light, refused a fire when the servants offered to make one, not wanting to know what he looked like. He couldn’t eat, or sleep. He hadn’t shaved in weeks. He avoided the others, never going out, only hearing the changes taking place in his homeland whenever court news was passed to him through the two serving girls Rhysand had allowed to serve Feyre – Cerridwen and Nuala – that had been singularly serving him since he’d settled in the town home with Nesta some four weeks past.

After the others had been captured, he’d been allowed to go on leave, until Nesta’s fate was determined, and he secretly blessed Morrigan, Amren, and Azriel for taking up his share of work meeting with the War Chiefs and Devlon. He knew he was a mess, imagined Nesta would be furious when she woke at the state of him, but he couldn’t seem to harness the energy to pretend everything was fine. Part of him hated when they visited, telling him his reaction was normal and they understood and were concerned for him, allowing him all the time he needed to recover.

He was no longer the General Rhysand had fought with, and he mentioned it one night, and Rhysand stood there, angrier than he’d seen him in decades, telling him that if it was Feyre laying comatose in that bed, he’d been worse than Cassian was. Azriel had reacted nearly the same, so he stopped saying it, even if he felt that way. Most days, he simply couldn’t focus on anything more than staring at her sleeping face and reliving those moments he’d had her in his arms, accepting their bond and their love, to do much inward reflection anyways.

There was no more fighting over females enrolling in training camps, and the War Chiefs had just recently passed a ban on cutting female’s wings. The Alchemists hadn’t been seen since the battle in the mountains, and Jeric had been captured and studied, even if he was seemingly now mad. He didn’t give a shit, and neither did his father, from the rumors the two fae girls told him – as far as he was concerned, he agreed with Worolf, the boy could spend the rest of his years interred at the Prison with the other unmentionables for all he cared.  It had been discovered that Jeric had killed Zaruk, the young male that had broken his silence and given the information that was needed to win that battle two months past and stop the uprising, and Cassian was both devastated and saddened to learn that. Torin, it seemed, was also amongst the continued rising death toll, and from what he heard, Astrid and Hammund had taken it hard, but had begun to stay with Enar to recover.

One day, he received a letter in the mail, addressed to Nesta, from behalf of the War Chief council. Puzzled, he’d opened it, then nearly dropped it as shock, pain, and pride flooded his senses at the contents. The new village Feyre had built had been revealed to all of Illyria – and Nesta, when she woke up – had been crowned it’s Chieftan. Females around Illyria had heard what she had done and those single or widowed had begun to move there, filling the cabins and Devlon’s training camps.

Tucking it under his arm, he climbed the steps, opening the door to her rooms, his eyes once more taking in her appearance. She was as she had been the day he’d met her – fully healed, back to a healthy weight and appearance, hair intricately woven into the crown of braids she had loved for so long by Elain when she’d visited earlier, and the sight choked him with tears.

Going to the chair he had worn down over the past few months, he read her the letter, studying her face. It was, ironically enough, the icy mask he was so accustomed to seeing on her face when she was awake, now provided by the deep relaxation of sleep instead of conscience effort. Setting aside the parchment, he slowly took her hand, staring into her face.

“Please come back to me,” he whispered, his voice cracking, as he stared. “I’m lost without you, babe. Please….”

Bowing his head, he broke down and began to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last chapter - the epilogue! Wow, we're at THAT point, y'all! This has been one wild ride!
> 
> Once again, I'm floored at the response to this fic - THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU. From the bottom of my heart, thank you!
> 
> I'll have it posted within the next few days (thinking 3 days max, but I want to cover all the intricacies I have outlined in my plot notes). I know this chapter got left on a sad note, but I promised 99% of all my work ends up in a HEA for the mains. I'm not much of a killer of MCs, ironically. OC side characters, however....*lol*
> 
> Stay tuned for the last chapter and my schedule/posting plans for more!


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here, guys! I can't believe we've reached the end of this fic! Wow! What a journey! Thank you all for reading and reviewing! I hope you love this ending as much as I enjoyed writing it. Have questions? Leave me a comment below!

Cassian grunted awake at the sound of a loud, rapid pounding at the front door. He wiped a hand across his brow, grimacing at the stiff feel of his beard beneath his palms when his hand moved over his jawline as he tried to clear the cobwebs of sleep from his mind. An empty stein sat loosely in his left hand and he realized he’d once again drank himself to sleep in the downstairs foyer. Hearing the pounding at the door grow more intense, he stood, wincing at the feel of his spine cracking as he straightened from the chair he’d dozed off in. Stretching, he looked back towards the kitchens, not hearing a stir from the back rooms, knowing that Cerridwen and Nuala must have been at the market, replenishing the larders, as the pounding grew to a crescendo that could wake the dead.

“ _Fuck, I’m coming_!” he shouted, muttering obscenities under his breath, as he stretched once more and moved towards the door, relieved that the pounding ceased when he barked out his terse response. His body reminded him yet again that it didn’t approve of the sleeping arrangements over the past few nights, but he couldn’t go in there – stay in there – not for a few more days, at least. Casting his gaze towards the stairs, he felt his heart seize painfully at the sight of the closed door that led to Nesta’s bedroom. Last night, like every night the past week, he hadn’t been able to make himself climb those stairs, enter her room and settle beside her, holding her hand and losing himself to the misery that continued to permeate his life and mood before sleep finally claimed him. 

_She may never wake up._

The second those traitorous thoughts slammed home, he gripped the stein so hard, the glass let out a faint screech of protest. It felt good, listening to the glass nearly crack, so he set it aside before he did that very thing and shattered it. A deep-rooted part of him wanted to – to break the glass, to break the furniture in the room, to break _something_ so he could hear anything other than the sound of his own heart breaking alongside the sleeping woman upstairs. It was these thoughts that had kept him from her, flaring his guilt to dangerous levels, even as his heart cried out ‘ _No more, not today, give me rest.’_ Unable to stand the warring of his own body, he drank – and drank and _drank -_ until he finally fell into a stupor and managed to sleep, in the safety of the foyer he’d now woken up in.

_If she saw the male you’ve become, she’d be disgusted._

For once, he wasn’t arguing with that dark inner side of himself, wiping at his face as he moved towards the door. He hadn’t wanted to think of how long it had been, since that fateful day on the side of the mountains up in Illyria, where his mate had almost sacrificed herself for a people that weren’t even her own.

It had been nearly twelve weeks since she’d fallen into the sleep that she still couldn’t wake from. Her body, as always, continued to improve – she was now more beautiful than he ever remembered her being - but it came at the price of her ever-present stillness, taunting him with what he couldn’t have and may never have again.

 _She’ll wake up. She has to._ For once, his inner thoughts seemed to take pity on him, that innate thought springing from the small spark of hope inside his chest that refused to perish, no matter how much he smothered it. He didn’t want to admit it, but he clung to that hope, even as he abused it, releasing a shuddering breath as the mantra repeated itself inside his head. _She’ll wake up…_

The pounding began again in earnest and he growled, wrenching the door open and nearly blinding himself as he squinted against the mid-day sun that poured in from the outside, hiding the details of his visitor’s face, casting them into a mere shadowed outline. He still wouldn’t allow the girls to light a fire in the hearth, enjoying the secluded darkness that he wallowed in, so the white-hot rays of the sun set his eyelids on fire. Cursing, he raised a hand to shield his face, scowling at the male in front of him. He knew who it was, of course. Only one person these days was brave enough to constantly show up and demand an audience: Azriel. Rhysand and Feyre were too busy running the Court, Morrigan was too busy juggling his job and her own, and Amren was still working with Lucien, as far as he knew.

“Wow, you look like total shit,” Azriel murmured, as if on cue, making Cassian throw down his hand and glare in the male’s face. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“ _Gee,_ thanks Ma. Why? So you can continue to insult me?” He barked back, grimacing at Azriel’s brief look of distaste as he looked over his rumpled clothes and unkept face. “Besides, the fuck you doing here? Its—” He turned, actually not knowing what time it was, squinting as he looked across the darkened foyer at his back, trying to make out the hands on the clock on the mantle over the fireplace, but his best friend was already brushing past him, barreling inside.

“It’s two thirty in the afternoon,” Azriel answered, suddenly throwing a bokken at his chest – something he hadn’t realized his friend had brought with him – forcing Cassian to react on instinct and catch it before it slammed into his solar plexus and skittered across the floor. “You look fucking disgusting and you stink of rot gut. _Enough is enough._ Get a shower, get dressed, shave your fucking face and cut your hair and meet me at the House of Wind in an hour.”

Anger immediately bloomed – hot, hard, and sharp inside his chest. How _dare_ he? “Listen, fucker, I—”

Just as he turned to lay into Azriel’s blunt and frankly _rude_ demolishment of his character, Elain came sauntering inside behind Azriel, from where the door stood still open to the outside, singing some odd tune beneath her breath and carrying a basket of flowers slung over her right arm – the same basket she brought to Nesta once a week, whenever the ones in her room needed replacing.

He stopped just what he was about to say the second he spotted her, fitting Azriel with a narrow-eyed glare even as he bit the words back, wondering if his barrage of condescending words and command had been his friend’s idea or the small petite Archeron sister’s.

“Good afternoon!” Elain chirped, sidestepping them both, even as she chuckled softly, giving his form a brief cursory glance. “Or morning for you, I suppose.”

As always when she appeared, Cassian was surprised at the surge of bitterness and jealousy that filled his head. Lately, now that Elain had learned that life was not all that bad as a High Fae, she carried an outwardly pleasant attitude to the world – and the people around her – even at the worst of times. It made him angry, seeing her so serene, when her sister was all but comatose upstairs. And again, as always, he immediately felt guilty for even thinking Elain was in any less pain that he was, able to see the tightening around her mouth and at the corners of her eyes. She, as she always reminded him with a thorough inspection of her person, was just better at hiding her pain.

Regardless of how they thought he was handling his grief about Nesta, the tension in the room remained the same: Azriel merely stared back at him, expecting an answer to his order, and Elain kept that pleasant smile plastered in place, heading for the stairs. This week, the flowers were different, and smelled lovely. Briefly, he thought Nesta would love them, if she could wake up to enjoy them. All in all, Cassian was left standing in the middle of the darkened foyer feeling like an asshole for barking at his best friend and internally accusing Nesta’s sister for feeling nothing about her sister’s condition.

 _Azriel cares about you and you’re biting his head off, Cassian. Leave my sister out of your issues as well.._ He could almost hear _her_ voice admonishing him inside his head in that moment, Nesta’s annoyance clear in his mind’s eye. _Hear him out, get dressed, do what he says. He didn’t have to come, you know. You **do** look awful._

“I see you told him he needs to get out,” Elain murmured, casting them both a brief glance as she paused in the middle of climbing the stairs, ignoring Cassian’s wrinkled clothes, haphazard hair, and two weeks’ worth of beard growth. He wasn’t sure if it was her politeness at work, or her upbringing. Either way, he was suddenly grateful for it, Nesta’s words sinking inside his gut, making him ashamed of how he most likely looked. “Perfect timing, by the way, I just came to freshen up her room, but wanted to spend some time with her, if you don’t mind. You know, read to her, tell her what’s been going on, and—”

Realizing they wanted him to _leave_ her, he bristled, panicking. What if she woke up while he was gone? What if she needed him? “Look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the offers,” he began – _Not really,_ his thoughts chimed in sourly at the same time – glancing between the two, almost as if he somehow could sense the nefarious plotting underfoot between the two of them, who’d been fast friends ever since Elain had been turned against her will and her gift as a seer realized, “but I can’t—”

“ _Yes_ ,” Azriel cut him off again, stepping forward and giving him a narrow-eyed glare, “you _can._ Like I said, get a shower, shave your damned face, and meet me at the House of Wind in an hour, or I’ll send Rhys and the rest of the Circle here to _make_ you come.”

“He means it,” Elain added sweetly, reaching for Nesta’s door, giving him a small cursory smile from the top of the stairs that somehow, despite her seeing the evidence otherwise, didn’t show an ounce of pity when she looked at him. “So I wouldn’t spend the wasted effort in arguing with him. Just go. It’ll do you some good to get out of the house and stretch your muscles. I’ll keep her company. She won’t be left alone, I promise.”

Cassian glared between the two of them, another protest wanting to form on his lips, but Elain just simply turned and slipped into Nesta’s room and Azriel stood there, crossing his arms over his chest, until Cassian finally made a sound of disgust and turned, stomping up the stairs and down the upper hallway, towards Rhysand’s old rooms that offered the bath he would force himself to use. Azriel called up after him, reminding him that if he failed to show, Rhysand would be the one greeting him next.

Muttering a curse, he did as his best friend asked, stripping and slipping into the newly-installed shower – something he’d remembered Nesta had wanted and he’d failed to give her back when she was awake – closing his eyes as the spray, cold as ice, pelted his face and shoulders and wings. It was unpleasant, but it woke up his still-muddled senses as he washed.

_What if she never wakes? What will I do? This is – it’s like I’m functioning with half my heart. I can’t – it hurts so bad, I…._

Shoving those thoughts down once more, he went through the motions – scrubbing his skin, using the tools in the shower to scrape his face clean, even using a pair of scissors to cut back several inches of his hair that had grown too long. Afterwards, he admit he felt better - less burdened - even if his heart still sputtered painfully in his chest.

Glancing at himself in the mirror, he grimaced again at his reflection. He was clean, sure, but the evidence of what he’d been purposefully doing to himself showed, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. He was as large as he ever was – towering over all the others in the Inner Circle, even a few inches over Rhysand and Azriel – but he hadn’t realized until then how much muscle tone he’d allowed himself to lose as he wallowed in his grief of losing Nesta to her unnatural sleep. His fatigues were loose, his muscles gaunt, his cheeks hollow and the circles under his eyes ashen. _Hell, if I –_ No, he wouldn’t finish that sentence in his head. He knew exactly what he’d done, but couldn’t seem to muster the energy to care right then. When Nesta had first fallen to her condition, he had trouble with the very basics like eating, sleeping, dreaming.

 _Fix yourself, Cassian. I demand it._ Once more, Nesta’s voice rang inside his head, and he turned, grabbing the bokken he’d leaned up against the door, and headed out of the town home, urging his wings to push him up into the sky, towards the House of Wind and the meeting he’d agreed to with Azriel.

* * *

 

“Just— _fuck!_ Damn,” he muttered, his shout whistling through his teeth and mulling down to a grunt of pain as Azriel once more landed another strike between his wings, clear against his back. By tomorrow, he’d be riddled with bruises and scrapes, but Azriel remained as calm and stoic as always, not gloating over his continued victory in their sparring. Normally, they were on much more even playing field, but since Cassian had allowed himself to fall to despair, Azriel now had the upper hand. He didn’t say it out loud, though, merely positioning himself and allowing Cassian once more to initiate the next strike as their training continued from where it had started two hours earlier.

“ _Cauldron,_ I can’t believe I let myself get like this,” Cassian grimaced, raising the bokken, inwardly relieved that his friend had insisted on wooden training swords instead of actual weapons, horrified to think of what he’d look like if they’d been using real blades. When he moved, his muscles protested wildly, but he was grateful for the exercise, beginning to fall into the rhythm he’d been accustomed to for centuries, letting out a pleased grunt when he finally managed to tap Azriel three times across the chest -one after another – even as his wings and body quivered from the strain. Azriel said nothing, merely nodding, even as he flushed with embarrassment at his his grip trembled.

“You were grieving,” Azriel finally murmured softly, lowering his stance when he took in Cassian’s form in full. Groaning faintly in relief, Cassian sagged against the bokken, allowing a shudder to roll through his shaking shoulders as he caught his breath. Cassian snorted, reaching up with rubbery fingers to tighten the leather thong that held his hair away from his sweaty face, watching as Azriel frowned at his response.

They were blessedly alone, the skies clear, and Cassian once more had a sneaking suspicion that it was Azriel’s doing. His friend didn’t want his reputation to falter in the eyes of others – given how badly he was doing in training currently – and his gut told him Azriel had told others that the House was off limits for the day. Even in his current state, knew he was still above par to others, but for them and Rhysand, his technique was noticeably out of practice.

“Still,” he shook his head, straightening and tucking the bokken close, forcing his wings to move in sync with the rest of him, using a few minutes just to ground himself – feel his muscles strain against the use he’d put them through – and let out another softened sigh of dismay at how thoroughly he’d let everything utterly slip past him. “No excuse. I can’t think of what the others must be wondering, the War Council must be teeming with rumors of what in the hells happened to me. I know they saw me stumble on the battlefield, when Mor had to come to my rescue, and when I left, I—”

“Just _stop it,”_ Azriel hissed, suddenly swinging violently – his movements so quick Cassian struggled to dodge and parry each blow in his weakened state - making him blink as he watched a rare flash of emotions burst across Azriel’s face. “Nesta did something that fucked her up, _really fucked her up,_ and you felt it in your bond. Don’t you remember how Feyre was in hysterics when Rhys pulled the same shit on her?” He had, but he didn’t want to mention it, not even to Feyre when she visited, trying to get him to talk. Rhys had _died,_ Nesta was sleeping, and he felt like such a weakling breaking down the way he did when she still stood a chance to recover. It wasn’t the same.

“She has been in an odd slumber for _months._ I—” Azriel continued, his eyes darkening as he suddenly turned away and threw his bokken savagely across the open training yard, his wings rustling in agitation as Cassian stared once more at his back, confused about this odd display of emotion from his friend, trying to understand its source. “It must have been…. _agonizing_ , feeling her do what she did.”

Cassian frowned, watching a shudder ripple through Azriel’s frame, opening his mouth to ask _how_ Azriel would know what that felt like, but the Spymaster was shaking his head, raking a hand through his hair, then turned and glared at him once more, ending whatever he was about to say.

“You fought most of those insurgents off instead of going to her. I don’t know _how,”_ Azriel hissed, another burst of emotions Cassian hadn’t seen him wear all that often rippling across his face – fury, frustration, shock - as his eyes went distant, then refocused on his own as he continued. “— _but you did._ You put our people first and you did _exactly_ as any General of Illyria or the Night Court would, fighting the insurgents when they needed you. Worolf _asked_ to take down his son, and you—didn’t leave when you could have, when your mate was down there.”

Azriel stared at him, his brows furrowing, that flicker of emotion deepening – bearing traces of frustration, confusion, and fear. Cassian blinked, not sure what to say, as Azriel sighed and shook his head. “ _How?_ _How_ did you leave her like that?”

Cassian stilled, tilting his head to the side, briefly beginning to wonder what Azriel was getting at. “Because I had to,” he finally replied, shrugging a shoulder, wincing at the pain that sliced through his shoulder with the movement. A lingering soak in the tub would be needed after this. “I had a job to do and I trusted her. Whatever she did, she must have felt like it was worth the cost. I have to trust that she knew what she was doing and she’ll—” He hated how his voice cracked, but refused to feel embarrassed about the pain he felt, especially in front of his friend. “That she’ll come back to me.”

“ _Fuck,”_ Azriel muttered, shuddering, scrubbing a hand across his face once more. Cassian stilled, his eyes going wide – realizing that Azriel was acting as if he _knew_ that pain, had felt it and experienced it for himself, and suddenly, a specific face flashed in his mind’s eye. No, not the one Azriel had publicly mooned over for centuries – he had suspected for years that Azriel was not in love with Mor, just the idea of her - but someone _else_ entirely _._ In all the years he’d known him, Azriel had _never_ acted so possessive as he had with her.

“How is Astra?” Cassian found himself asking, when Azriel seemed suddenly deflated, no longer eager to continue their training. Inwardly, he was thankful, sweaty and sore and more than a little light-headed after so much physical exertion and little food over the past few days. Enar had visited, as had the others, but Astra hadn’t, and now he began to wonder why, when he knew how close she had been to Nesta. He felt a flicker of shame for not asking before now, watching Azriel’s shoulders tense as he stiffened and turned away once more, but pressed the question again. “Have you seen her? I haven’t since the caverns. I— _shit,_ this is embarrassing. I should’ve asked. I know she also looked fairly beat down when I winnowed into the tunnel you were in. She recovering well? I’m sorry I didn’t ask; did she take a hit by that fucker before--”

“She’s fine,” Azriel murmured out starchly, cutting him off, making Cassian’s ears prick on the subtle chord of emotion he once more noted in his friend’s tone. “She’s—taking time for herself, she said.” Azriel rubbed a hand across his brow, canting a brief glance his way, before his eyes shifted and he looked out over the view of Velaris below. “The others, in the camps…they figured out who Stian was…and her relation to him.”

Cassian blinked, nearly staggering. _Oh shit._ They’d meant to protect her, but then everything had gone to hell and now, hearing she was most likely the subject of rumors and ridicule or scorn made him stiffen in shock. _Fuck._ “They know she didn’t have anything to do with it, right? Where is she? She alright? She can take my cabin—”

“She did,” Azriel replied, flashing him a tight smile, one Cassian knew all too well – how it shielded other, deeper wounds lurking beneath the surface. Whatever had gone down between them had been ugly and not what Azriel had wanted, clearly. Still, he didn’t ask, letting his friend continue to mull over what to say next, Azriel eventually finding his voice and shrugging one shoulder, looking away. “She knows we support her, Rhysand already cleared the air with the Chieftains, but—she refuses to step back into proper society, or train. I’ve tried talking to her…” He went quiet, and Cassian felt his friend’s frustration all too well. He and Nesta had once done the same thing for months.

Azriel cleared his throat, his wings suddenly flaring and settling his against his back, hinting at his barely subdued discomfort, before giving Cassian another tight-lipped smile, his stoic mask slowly slipping back into place. “She wrote you a letter a few weeks back, said she’d leave whenever you came back, but—I told Enar to tell her it wouldn’t matter, you wouldn’t return until…Nesta woke, if even then. You probably haven’t seen it, given….” Azriel shrugged, and he was right, he hadn’t. Cassian had ignored all correspondences unless it was something Cerridwen and Nuala brought up over dinner. “She seems to have accepted that, she hasn’t left it often.” 

 _And certainly not to see you, it seems. That’s what really bothers you, doesn’t it?_ He raised an eyebrow, canting his head to the side, reading Azriel’s stiff shoulders for what he suspected it was. Still, he didn’t ask, and it seemed his friend wasn’t quite yet willing to volunteer.

“The others?” He asked, changing the subject, as he sat his bokken aside on a weapons rack and grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat from his face, tossing Azriel one. “How’re Amren and Lucien doing with the rune searching? They still in Day? What about the rest? _Cauldron,_ I’ve become a damned recluse. I don’t even know if the War Council has met for their annual summit.”

“Mor has taken most of your duties for a while, including those, but she seems to enjoy the distraction. Something odd happened down south, below the wall – she won’t say what, but I can sense an anxiousness in her whenever we get a letter from Vassa or Jurien,” Azriel replied, frowning faintly, but eventually shrugging and wiping himself down as well. “Rhys and Feyre still lead the High Lord Summit sessions, and those have become so frequent, Rhys has finally trusted most of the Night Court functions to the rest of us – even allowing Keir to continue his odd correspondence with Eris.”

That made Cassian raise a brow, but he said nothing, as Azriel continued.

“Lucien is in Day still, I think more to avoid Elain than his need to translate the runes, which seems to be going well, even though we haven’t gathered much beyond discovering what the markings meant on the bodies we found, or how they’re able to cast the siphoning spells.” Azriel frowned, giving Cassian a strange stare, when Cassian snorted at the mention of Lucien and what he’d been doing. “Amren’s been splitting her time amongst Day, Summer, and here. I think she’s in Summer now, since Varian recently returned from active duty. Hybern’ Isle isn’t guilty of conspiring with the Alchemists, not that I suspected they would be. Most of the fae there left hate mortals and never agreed with Hybern’s suggestion to work with the Queens below the wall.”

He nodded, having thought the same, though his thoughts still wandered back to Elain and Lucien _still_ avoiding one another. He began to think that, maybe, he should talk to Elain, tell her to stop avoiding her mate.  Knowing what he knew now - of how it felt to fully have Nesta as _his_ – he couldn’t see what they were doing as anything less than being utterly daft. _Why shy away from something so amazing?_ He stilled, realization suddenly hitting him that – even with the pain he felt now, with her stuck in an endless slumber – he would willingly suffer through it all again to have those few precious weeks with her back in his cabin in the snow-capped mountains of Illyria. Despite the pain, those stolen precious moments had been worth _every single moment_ of the anguish he felt now.

“They’re _still_ not willing to see their bond through?” He asked, voicing his exasperation regarding Elain and the Fox, shaking his head once more, watching Azriel pause as he wiped down his arms and studied him intently. Cassian made a face, watching Azriel blink in surprise. “What utter nonsense. They’re wasting time. Mate pairings are no laughing matter.”

“You say that— _now?_ After—what you felt? _Still_ feel?” By Azriel’s tone, he could tell his friend was surprised at what he had said.

“Of course I do,” Cassian murmured, glancing at Azriel with a frown as he wiped his brow. “I mean, _yes_ , I wish with every waking breath she’ll wake and I won’t be so damned alone, but—” He paused, letting out a slow breath, giving Azriel a faint smile. “It’s _still_ worth it, what we had. What we _still_ have, thank the Gods, even if it’s not what it was. I—can’t really describe it. It’s one of the best feelings I’ve ever experienced in my life. No regrets, none.”

Azriel went utterly still, his gaze unfocused. Cassian stared, realization slamming into him, as he thought back to how tersely his friend had discussed Nesta’s friend. _Wait – you don’t mean to tell me that….him and Astra?_ He knew his friend was keen on her, possibly even in love with her, but-- _mates?_

“ _Oh fuck_ ,” he murmured under his breath, giving Azriel a thorough once-over, struggling to come to grips with what he’d just comprehended. Azriel went rigid, his eyes narrowing, even as Cassian blinked and most likely looked as shocked as he felt. _How had I not seen this coming?_ Suddenly, he recanted how Azriel stared at Astra, especially that first time they had met and when they’d questioned her, and wondered if his friend had known what they were to one another already. “You and— _Astra?”_

Azriel said nothing, still remaining rigid as ever, but a tell-tale trace of shadows began to lick at his collar, telling Cassian that what he had guessed was correct. As his eyes met Cassian’s own, his lips and the corners of his eyes tightened – giving Cassian as much of a confirmation as he suspected he was going to get from the Spymaster. _Whoa!_

Not sure if his friend would listen, he chose to speak anyways, reaching out and grasping his shoulder tightly. “ _Listen to me -_ don’t be a fool like I was with Nesta and ignore it or think it’ll go away,” Cassian suddenly blurted, when Azriel’s shadows began to condense, like he was about to winnow away rather than face the topic at hand. When Azriel’s eyes held his, he made sure to keep his tone and gaze serious. “--or like Elain and Lucien continue to do. When you find _the_ one - the one you _know_ is meant to be _yours?_ There’s _nothing_ like it.”

Azriel remained quiet, but he watched the shadows slowly ease around him. Cassian stared back, telling him without words that he knew how Azriel must feel – panic, exhilarating nervousness, unease - but when the shadows finally cleared from his shoulders and his friend gave him a faint smile after several seconds, Cassian knew he was seriously mulling over his words. Without consciously trying, he returned the smile.

Suddenly, he realized he felt _normal_ for the first time in months, no longer drowning in his own despair. He blinked, canting his head back, staring at the House of Wind, at the sunlight blazing down at them from a cloudless sky, at the lack of prying eyes, before once more settling them back on his friend. “Hey, thanks. You know—for this.” He gestured around him when Azriel raised a brow, canting his head back once more to take in the sights around him, sights of his home he hadn’t realized he missed. “For getting me out of the house, out of my head, and just— _thanks.”_

Azriel, in a rare show of affection, clapped a hand on his shoulder and tugged him into a brief tight hug. “Anytime, brother.”

* * *

 

When he finally returned, slipping into the town house and hearing the two girls whispering in the back of the kitchens as they unloaded their findings at the market, he quickly moved up the stairs, heading towards the open door that led to Nesta’s room.

Inside, sat Elain, perched in the chair he usually occupied when he wasn’t curled against her side in the large bed that pressed up against the far north wall. In her hands was a book that she read softly to the beautiful sleeping female, a loose blanket around her beguiling form, making his heart both wrench and soften all at once. When Elain paused, folding a dried flower between the pages to hold her spot and looked his way, he offered a faint smile.

“I suppose I should thank you as well, for—this,” He gestured to himself, still in training gear and gleaming siphon stones, face and hair clean, and at the room at large, now tidied and bursting with flowers of various scents. “I feel much better, thank you. The room looks nice as well. She’d like it.”

“You’re welcome,” Elain smiled, rising and setting the book aside as he stepped past the threshold, admiring the flowers Nesta’s sister had placed in the vases around the room. They were varied in color this time – purples, blues, pinks and deep reds – reminding him of the night sky and the dark colors Nesta favored.

“Pretty, and unusual,” he commented, watching Elain gather her basket and book, heading for the door. She paused, admiring the flowers, before flashing him a brief conspiracle smile. He tilted his head to the side, finding that curious, before glancing back to Nesta, starting to shrug off his training gear.

“No, keep it,” Elain finally murmured out loud, making him pause. She pointed to his siphon stones and he blinked, raising an eyebrow, but let his bracers slip back into place. She grinned, giving him a faint wink, then closed the door. “See you two soon.”

Once more, he turned to Nesta, taken in by her beauty. _No, its more than just her pretty face,_ he thought, as emotions so deep they staggered him welled up inside him, sending a surge of power through him in reaction, his stone gleaming brightly, casting the bright room with its open windows a faint red color. _She is strong, independent, smart, funny, loving when you can get past her defenses…_ He found himself smiling as he settled on one side of the bed, pulling her close, curling around her, even as he sighed and closed his eyes, smelling her hair, thinking of how she could keep even _him_ in line, all stubborn six plus feet of him. _I miss you so much, babe. **So much.**_

Closing his eyelids, he failed to note the small blueish glow that melded into purple against his vision, falling into an exhausted slumber, worn down from his training with Azriel.

* * *

 

He woke with a start, feeling something jolt from her side of the bond – something he hadn’t felt in _months._ “Babe?” Instinctively, he reached for her, panic tearing through his gut when his hands slid across the bed, only to find her side empty and the sheets cold. The room had grown dark, the windows still open, but the sun had descended below the mountains they had stayed together in, out in the distance.

Jerking to a stand, he forced down the bitter metallic taste of fear that engulfed him. _She couldn’t be—no, this isn’t happening, **no** — _Just as quickly, he felt it; felt _her._ She was there, but distant, like she had been since that day in the mountains, when Stian had tried taking her from him, and he slammed through the door, bellowing her name as he launched himself into the hallway. _Where the hell was she?_

“ _Gods,_ Cassian, quit shouting so loud you could wake the dead! The girls are sleeping!”

Instantly, he froze, hearing that unmistakable voice, from the foyer below. _No, it can’t be, she’s sleeping, she’s--_ Staggering forward, he dropped his gaze as soon as he reached the railing, hands trembling as they gripped the banister, his eyes scouring the foyer below like a madman. _Where--?_

Then, out of the kitchens, _she_ walked in, covered in flour, hair pinned up in her usual crown of braids, covered in a burgundy dress and apron, and he nearly crashed to his knees, eating her up, his eyes devouring her. She stared up at him, looking thoroughly irritated, and he wanted to shout out his joy, cry, slam down the stairs and crush her in a hug so hard, her ribs would creak under the onslaught.

“ _Nesta_ ,” he choked out, his voice cracking, going hoarse, as he felt tears prick at his eyes. _She’s **awake.** Finally, she’s **back**. _

Whatever he had expected their reunion to be like, this wasn’t it, watching Nesta huff and gesture around her, twirling in a tight circle, her skirts flaring. “Get your ass down here, you have some explaining to do! This house is _revolting,_ Cassian!” She bit out, glaring up at him with that icy determination he loved so much – _Fuck, she’s fucking gorgeous, I love her so godsdamned much! –_ feeling elation bubble up from his gut as she continued on, seemingly oblivious to the outpouring of emotion his side of the bond was no doubt saturated in, using their first reunion to chastise him about his housekeeping skills. He wanted to laugh he was so ecstatic at the brief fury in her eyes. “You look awful, by the way, and the hearth hasn’t been cleaned in _weeks,_ there are letters piled so high in the study that I wonder what you’ve missed, and—”

Hearing her go on, he _did_ to laugh, but all too quickly the noise shifted, sounding an awful lot like muffled sobs. Nesta paused, staring up at him, and that icy mask of hers thawed into a look of softened love that made his pulse collapse into a frantic, jittery stutter. Her voice, just moments before filled with righteous fury, gentled, going so soft he strained his ears to hear. “Cass, I’m so sorry, for leaving you like that, for scaring you…I love you, you know that, right?”

Finally, his knees began to function once more, and he had heard enough – _She’s back and she’s mine and she **loves** me! - _tearing down the stairs at warp speed and sweeping her up into his arms. He couldn’t seem to stop himself, crushing his lips to her, gentle and harsh all at the same time, afraid to break her but yet clutching her tightly all the same, remembering her form had recovered from her weeks of sleep. She wrapped her arms tightly around him and he held her as his knees gave out, cocooning them in the darkness of his wings, petting her hair, her back, whispering words of love in her ear. _She’s back, she’s **mine,** she loves me, she’s okay, she’s…_

“Cassian? Let me up a second. I…made you something while you were resting.”

Cassian blinked, peering down at her, watching as Nesta bit her bottom lip and raised her eyes, casting him a faint smile. “What?” He wasn’t sure he heard her right – she _made_ him something? _When?_

Nesta chuckled, gently tugging his fingers loose, even as his body shuddered in protest, wanting to wrench her back up against him. He’d been unable to hold her, feel her smile, her kisses, and now she wanted to get up, separate herself and go to the other room? “What is it? I can get it. Don’t leave.”

“I’ll just be a second, don’t worry,” she admonished him, cupping his cheek. She was still ethereally beautiful to him, and as his eyes took in her form, he wasn’t surprised at the slow burn of lust that lit up his belly. He missed _everything_ about her – her smile, her determination, her _body_. He wanted to show her how much. “I swear after this I’m all yours. Humor me, please. Come on, close your eyes. It’s a surprise.”

He frowned, wanting to say no, desperate not to separate himself from her for even a minute, but did as she asked, closing his eyes and settling impatiently on the floor, tucking his wings back against his spine. Sighing, he listened to her pause and stare, then dart into the other room – the kitchens. Despite her being true to her word, returning within moments, he felt every second she was away like it was a small eternity, his fingers itching to grab hold of her when she once more neared him.

“Open your mouth,” she whispered.

He chuckled, shaking his head in confusion, but did as she asked. Then, he felt it – a small morsel of bread touched his tongue, and he closed his mouth and chewed, feeling a burst of poppy and lemon hit his tongue. He blinked, opening his eyes, staring at Nesta who looked at him hesitantly, nervousness flickering in those strong eyes of hers he loved so much. “What’s this?”

“I’m feeding you, signifying I want you and accept you. It’s lemon poppy seed bread, one of the few things I can actually make well,” she whispered, making his insides turn to molten in astonishment and lust for what she was saying. _She knows? About the mating ritual?_  “It was one of the things Feyre told me about when she visited,” Nesta went on shyly, studying his reaction. He paused, going still, canting his head to the side with a frown, watching as her eyes slowly lowered over his form and her cheeks heated. _She remembered? When Feyre visited? What--?_

“When was this?” He murmured, curling his fingers around her wrists, drawing her close. He accepted, she had to know it, but his mind was working furiously to understand what she was saying. Feyre and her had never been close, not unless you counted the innumerable times her sister had visited Nesta while she had slept. It seemed, the threat of death and her condition, had forced the sisters to set aside their differences, at least for the time being.

“When I was sleeping,” she replied in a small voice, going still and then resting her head against his chest. His right hand immediately went to touch her hair, petting the crown of her head softly, when he went completely immobile, her words registering.

“You _remember_ that?” He whispered, floored as she nodded her head, making his heart thud in his chest, happiness threatening to rip him in two. He thought back to all the visitors she had, and the nights they’d shared - where he’d slept beside her, holding her, whispering how much he wanted her back – and he swallowed thickly, hoping she would remember _those_ things as well. “What else do you remember?”

She smiled faintly, pulling back to meet his gaze with her own, her eyes soft and filled with so much love it humbled him. She reached up, touching his cheek once more, letting out a shuddering breath as her eyes filled with tears. “Everything, Cass. I remember _everything._ Your words, your tears, your touches….I remember it _all,_ Cassian.”

He groaned, telling her he accepted, following through with the formal ceremony of the mating bond and taking another bite of the bread she’d brought with her, even though it was unnecessary in his eyes, and tugged her close. She smiled, kissing him in return when his mouth found hers, then carried her up the stairs – past the room she’d wallowed in, towards the set of guest beds that remained unused. Tugging a door open, slamming through the entry and closing it quickly, he tugged her into the bed – hands loosening garments, fingers gripping bared skin, relishing in the gasps and moans that softly burst past her lips as he unwrapped her. Her fingers, just as quick as his own, shed off the training leathers he still wore from earlier, and together, they hastily pressed their bodies together, eager and so hungry for one another that both of them were clumsy in their rush to join their flesh.

“I love you so fucking much,” he whispered against her mouth, groaning as she arched up just when he pressed forward, sliding deep inside the hot, warm clasp of her body. Her nails pricked his back and he relished it, slipping easily into a smooth, gliding rhythm of hard forward thrusts and slow, lingering withdrawals. She mewled against his mouth, and he smiled, closing his eyes as her body tugged tightly against his own, drawing him in deeper, _deeper,_ until he felt like his heart and cock might explode all at once. He was _close,_ worried it was happening too fast for her, but when her cries grew sharp, her body tight, and he felt the small pulsing spasms of her orgasm around his shaft, he tumbled with her, hoarsely repeating her name as she took his climax, willing him to spill _deep_ and stay there.

“I love you, too,” she whispered in his ear. “You’re mine—”

“—and I’m yours,” he finished, tracing her mouth with his tongue. She moaned, and he grew stiff again, beginning to move.

They had all night and he was going to make sure she knew how much he loved her, in every way possible.

* * *

“Are you sure we should show up like this? So unexpectedly? What if something important is happening?”

Cassian turned, staring at the portrait his mate painted, dressed in a blood-red sparkling gown that hugged all her tight, lush curves, her hair once more in that familiar crown of braids, even as several tendrils hung loose about her face, giving her a wanton, alluring look he could barely resist. He smiled, tugging her closer, pressing a kiss to her cheek, where he was dressed in his typical Illyrian battle regalia – as close to a formal outfit as he’d ever come. Nesta had almost worn the same, but he told her no, wanting nothing more than to stare at her in the dress he’d bought her the day before. He’d forced Cerridwen and Nuala to silence, wanting her all to himself for at least a day, when they had both found them sleeping in the other rooms of the house, and he’d spent the time worshiping her thoroughly – mind _and_ body.

“Of course, babe. It’ll be fine. We had to rejoin society at some point, didn’t we? Why not now?” He turned, pulling her towards the manse along the Sidra river that Feyre and Rhysand lived inside fully now, even going as far as to begin accepting Night Court business in, instead of the hallowed castle atop the Court of Nightmares that his father had used before him.

“Do you know what’s going on?” She murmured, giving into his gentle pleas, falling into step beside him, as her eyes trailed over the high number of guards around the palatial home.

He shook his head, feeling another flare of that guilt he hadn’t felt in a few days tug at him – he was thoroughly out of the loop, only knowing the last time so many guards were present that Rhysand had guests from other Courts in attendance. “No, but either way they won’t mind our barging in. Promise.”

Nesta looked about to question him again, but two guards near the entry noted their approach and snapped to attention, ushering them inside. From there, they were led down the hallway they both were familiar with, to the meeting rooms Cassian now remembered from the last time he’d been in attendance to one, when they’d made plans as a whole to tackle the Alchemist problem. He knew the problem wasn’t over, but for now, the front had remained silent and the rumors had died off. He had at least followed up on that after he’d returned from the training Azriel had forced him into.

“Just so you know,” he began, murmuring in her ear as he watched Nesta’s face change, growing colder, displaying that icy mask everyone knew so well, “the last time I met up with Rhys and your sister in these rooms, the other High Lords and the War Chieftains were present.”

She nodded, staring straight ahead, but he felt her grip tighten on the crook of his arm. Resting his other hand over hers, he gave it a gentle squeeze, then let the guards open the door, ushering them into the room.

Up ahead, Rhysand and Feyre and the rest of the Inner Circle sat around a circular table, the War Chieftains among them. As they swept inside, everyone paused, going utterly silent, every pair of eyes shifting to them. Nesta remained as outwardly cold as always, but when Rhysand and the others caught sight of them, he couldn’t help but smirk.

Suddenly, the sound of chairs scraping loudly across tile echoed across Cassian’s senses, as the War Chiefs began to rise, taking in the sight of Nesta. Even Devlon was among them, rising quickly and heading towards them.

“Still the Ice Princess, I see,” he barked, studying her with an expression that Cassian couldn’t make out whether it was approval or disdain. He began to bristle, a snarl wanting to erupt past his senses, but Nesta’s tightening grip held him back.

“Still an asshole, I see,” Nesta replied, her tone sardonic, and Cassian froze. In fact, everyone did, especially the War Chieftains, waiting to see how Devlon would react.

Devlon stared, his dark eyes betraying nothing about what he was thinking, making Cassian tense once more, about to tell everyone in the room that they better respect the hell out of his mate – they’d named her War Chieftan of New Lofoten, hadn’t they? – when Devlon suddenly threw his head back and laughed. He tilted his gaze, watching Nesta stare at Devlon for a few second longer, only for her own lips to briefly twitch, telling him she was also amused. _What in the actual hell?_

He peered over Devlon’s head to watch the others of the Inner Circle stare in utter bafflement as Devlon reached forward, crushing Nesta into a bone-breaking hug. Cassian stiffened once more, but Nesta gently pat his wrist before extracting herself from his grip, returning the hug that Devlon gave her.

“I’m still not apologizing for beating your ass in training,” He heard Devlon mutter, only to hear it followed by a small snort from his mate.

“Then I won’t apologize for frying your ass on the field that day,” she replied cryptically back, making Cass blink. _She—wait, what?_

The other War Chieftains ushered past him then, circling around her, eyeing her for weaknesses and strengths, and Cassian noted Worolf among them. The eyes of the older male caught his own, and he nodded – his expression blank, not telling him whether or not he personally approved on the choice of Nesta joining their ranks – but it appeased Cassian, telling him that the older male would respect the wishes of the council and its General and treat her as equally as anyone else.

“She woke up and you _didn’t tell me?”_ Hissed her sister, from behind him. He turned, giving his High Lady, Feyre a contrite smile, even as Rhysand and Azriel both gave him a knowing smirk. They, at least, knew why he’d kept her awakening a secret for at least a day, it seemed. “How is she? Any side effects? Has she asked for me—or Elain?”

Cassian’s expression softened, hearing the buried hurt in Feyre’s words, as she stared openly at his mate, who continued to easily talk with the War Chieftains unaided, holding her own, but also not looking their way.

“She did,” he replied, keeping his tone low, watching Feyre turn back his way. “She remembered what you said to her, when you’d visit while she slept.” Feyre blinked, her eyes widening, as the others stilled, shifting their gaze fully back to him once more. “It seems she remembers those visits.”

“You can’t do that!” One of the War Chieftains bellowed, drawing their attention back to the circle of Illyrians staring at Nesta, who was now glowering at one of the older males close to War Chief Worolf. “There’s never been a council for a village! _Hah!”_

“What’s this?” Rhysand asked coolly, his power rippling over the room, blanketing it in stars. Cassian was grateful, because the second he’d heard a voice rising against his mate, his fingers itched to scalp the offender. Moving over to where Nesta stood, he gently braced an arm against the small of her back, staring down at the War Chief that had burst out with the condescending tone.

 _Vidar,_ his mind supplied, as he stared at the older male with a growl. As if suddenly realizing all eyes were now on him, including his High Lord, the male swallowed but snorted, glancing at Nesta. “She wants a council, for her village, in passing local law. I was telling her, it’s unnecessary, and—”

“What did you have in mind, Nesta?” Rhysand asked, overriding Vidar’s words, turning to her. Nesta stiffened, Cassian able to feel the ripple in her back as his hand curved against her spine, but she met Rhysand’s gaze unflinchingly with her own.

“I’d like to request Enar and Astra as my second in command,” Nesta replied, “—and wish to employ those that helped me in the field that day, to take down Stian Haavik.”

“You’d employ a traitor?” Worolf asked, narrowing his gaze at her as she turned her head towards the sound of Worolf’s reply. “She’s related to the one who nearly tore our people apart. She’s tainted, and you want to _reward her?_ ”

“No, _you_ did that. Your own people and their own prejudices did most of Stian’s work for him,” Nesta hissed back, eliciting an eruption of muttered curses underneath the other War Chieftains breaths. As proud as Cassian was of her in that moment, seeing the way the men reacted around her, even with her being granted equal footing with them, told them their work at changing the minds and hearts of his people was still going to be a long battle going forward. “If you’ll help me, _help each other,_ we can—”

“Nonsense,” Vidar sneered back, stepping forward, giving Nesta a glance that had Cassian’s blood boiling. “I won’t approve such a thing, and—”

 _“The last time I checked, **I rule this Court, not you** ,” _Roared Rhysand, sending everyone into utter silence as the room went pitch black. Feyre stepped forward, glaring at Vidar, at Worolf, as Rhysand went on, glancing Nesta’s way. “Chieftess Nesta Archeron, your request is approved.” Cassian watched the others of the council bristle, but as Rhysand cast them all a dark glare, they quieted. “If I hear that any of you are ignoring her, allowing your undue bias to dampen her opinions at the council sessions, **_you will answer to me._** Am I understood?”

Together, the War Chieftains murmured their approval, filing out of the room. Nesta stared each one of them in the face as they left, her face a mask of icy determination. “You alright?” He murmured, tilting his head down, watching her glance back his way.

Once they were alone with the Inner Circle, she nodded, smiling faintly and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Of course,” she replied with a whisper. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

He believed she could, with what he knew about his mate. He nodded, glancing back to the others that stared at them once more, all silent, as if no one knew what to say to break the sudden awkward tension that filled the room.

Finally, Feyre did the job, stepping forward and launching herself at Nesta, crushing her in a hug. Nesta stiffened, glancing to Cassian with a startled look, but he smiled, allowing Feyre to pull back at stare at her with anger, worry and love warring in her eyes.

“We Archeron sisters never do anything half measure, do we? A fucking two month sleep?” Feyre whispered, glaring at Nesta, even as she crushed her in another hug.

“Yeah, well, you’re the idiot that got us involved with these mongrels by going above the wall in the first place,” Nesta piped back, her tone acidic, face a glacial blank slate. Feyre’s watery laugh eased the tension and Cassian felt his shoulders relax as she looked back at them, tugging at Nesta’s wrist.

“We’re going to see Elain, let her know Nesta’s awake,” Feyre called, waving a hand, glancing over at Nesta oddly again – as if there was so much she wanted to say, but couldn’t, not in front of the others of the Inner Circle that weren’t related by blood. Cassian and Rhysand nodded, just as the others murmured for them to go about their business, and Cassian watched as his mate left the room with his High Lady, turning back to stare at the others, who were now observing him with open speculation.

“So _, uh,_ can I have my job back?” He finally asked, earning a round of laughter from the lot of them, making him smile in turn.

“Sure,” Rhysand said, grinning and clapping a hand against his left shoulder, tugging him closer. “Welcome back.”

* * *

 

Nesta stared at Feyre as if she was a stranger, not knowing what to say as she watched her little sister once more sniffle, turning to stare at her as if she couldn’t believe she was beside her, then kept walking, towards an area of the manse that she assumed Elain was using.

“How’re you doing?” She forced herself to murmur, just to fill the silence with _something._ The void between them as they walked was stifling and Nesta needed to hear her sister talk, since she’d been forced to endure more silence that she had ever wanted to in her entire life, stuck in that sleep that she couldn’t wake from, not until Cassian had shared his power with her. She had endured _weeks_ of his despair, drowning her from his side of the bond, all but screaming at him to _hear her, share his power,_ and then she’d be able to _wake up_. It had taken Elain’s subtle suggestion for it to happen, and she wondered if her sister had known in a dream, like she’d _known_ so many things as of late, and wanted to ask her. But until then, she had Feyre to contend with.

She still wasn’t sure how her sister felt about her. Was she still angry? Was she truly happy to see her, or just relieved tht she finally woke up? Would this pleasantness between them last, or would Feyre once more find her the irritating and cold older sister and shut her out? It made her wary to confide in her, but she’d break the ice and try and do the outreach first. She was the big sister, after all. She knew she didn’t owe anyone an apology for who she was, how she’d survived the fucked up things that had happened to her, but she still craved – on some elemental level – for her sister to accept her for who and what she was, not compare her to herself or their ever-bright sister, Elain.

“I’m fine, hormones and all, but—” Feyre paused, when Nesta went rigid, her pulse pounding in her ears when Feyre’s words registered.

“You’re _pregnant?”_ She whispered, blanching, even as she scrambled for that icy exterior she was known for.

Feyre turned, wringing her hands, nodding as they slowed, reaching a closed door down a long hallway lined with dark gold-flecked marble. “Yeah,” she murmured, confirming what Nesta suspected, giving her a faint smile. “I meant to tell you, it’s just been a rough few months, and time got away from me, then you were—injured.”

“How far along are you?” She asked, her eyes lowering, watching Feyre cup her stomach. It wasn’t curved, her pregnancy not showing just yet, so she immediately thought not long, but hell, what did she know about Fae pregnancies? Were they longer than mortal ones, now that they were essentially immortal? “When are you due?”

Feyre smiled, opening her mouth to reply, when the door wrenched open and Elain stared at her, eyes wide, tears shimmering in their depths. Nesta turned, stilling at the sight, and Elain let loose a sob and all but tackled her. “ _Nesta! I knew it! I knew you were awake! It worked!”_

Nesta traded a glance with Feyre before nodding, frowning and pulling back, glancing around before ushering them inside Elain’s room. “Yes, it worked – you knew, didn’t you? What _else_ do you know, little sister?”

“I know about—the _p-past_ and what happened to you,” Elain hiccupped, her face turning red as tears streamed down her face. Nesta went immediately rigid, sucking in a sharp breath, even as Elain sobbed openly, shaking her head. Feyre looked at a complete loss, glancing between the two of them. “You should’ve _told_ us, long ago, but the Cauldron, and what it did to _you_ , to _me_ —we, _Gods,_ we owe you such a _huge_ apology, I _can’t_ begin to—”

“ _Stop, listen to me,_ you know me _nothing_ , you hear? _Nothing_ ,” Nesta bit out furiously, gripping Elain’s shoulders fiercely. “I did it to—protect myself. I won’t make excuses, or apologies, for what I did, but neither should you. It’s in the past.”

“What in the _hells_ are you two talking about?” Feyre finally asked, shaking her head in exasperation. “Why do I feel I’m totally missing something here?”

“It’s nothing,” Nesta hurriedly interjected, before Elain could continue. Elain stared at Nesta, her lower lip trembling, but eventually she nodded, too. Nesta watched Feyre’s eyes go distant, hurt buried there, glimmering in their depths, but right now, Nesta didn’t want to open that would – see the look of shock, or pity, enter her little sister’s eyes. Just as Feyre began to close herself off, Nesta reached for her, drawing them both close, giving them each a steady hug in turn. “One day,” she whispered, watching them both stare at her, eyebrows raising, “I’ll tell you everything. Just—not today. Let today be a happy day, okay? Please?”

“Okay,” they both whispered, Elain more enthusiastic than Feyre, but she still saw the hope there in her sister’s eyes. Nesta nodded, then cornered Elain with a glare. “And what’s this I hear about you _still_ ignoring Lucien?”

Elain went completely white, her eyes widening, even as her body went rigid. Feyre chuckled, rolling her eyes heavenward, as Nesta continued on, glowering at her little sister – the seer, the one who’d been in love as a human and hated her status as a High Fae – and the one chosen to be mated to a male that, from what Nesta had seen, seemed harmless.

“ _W-What?_ Why bring _him_ up?” Elain, she noticed, failed to meet her eyes, making her snort and roll her own.

“If I can claim Cassian and Feyre can claim Rhysand, why can’t you claim Lucien? It’s—amazing, honestly.” Nesta admitted, watching Feyre smile out of the corner of her eye.

Suddenly, Elain burst into tears again. “Because I’ve _ruined_ it. He _hates_ me. I know, I saw it on his face. I dream about it.”

Frowning, the two other sisters glanced at each other, then offered Elain a soft hug, even as the woman struggled to respond to their questions.

* * *

 

“Mated, huh? How’s that working out for you?” Morrigan drawled, now that they had a chance to talk that didn’t involve sudden imminent war on the horizon. She lounged in a chair around the circular table, Azriel on her left, Rhysand elsewhere.

“It’s amazing,” Cassian replied back, grinning from ear to ear. “You should try it sometime.”

“Damn, mated _and_ in love,” Morrigan whistled through her teeth, giving Cassian a thorough once-over. She laughed, shaking her head, then suddenly sobered. He tilted his head to the side, curiosity piqued, and he noted Azriel do the same.

“M-Maybe I have,” Morrigan suddenly blurted, going stiff. “You’d— _uh_ —like her.”

 _Her? Did she just say…?_ Cassian paused, his eyes going wide, just as Azriel glanced his way as well, shock also written out over his face. While they’d talked earlier, and Cassian had learned of Azriel’s own shocking discovery of his mate, he hadn’t expected Morrigan to make such an announcement, especially with it being a female.

“Damn, congratulations, Mor,” he replied back, his tone jovial, rejoicing for his friend. He’d known how guilty Mor had been over the years, sensing it in her looks when they’d bantered with their flirting, hoping to ease Azriel’s mistaken love-for-loneliness when they were younger. Now, he saw that guilt again, letting Azriel help Mor realize neither of them blamed her. “When can we meet her?”

“Yeah, that’s fantastic,” Azriel murmured, giving Mor a slow smile.

Mor didn’t seem to be buying it, scrubbing a hand over her face as she let out a harsh breath, shaking her head slowly. “Y-You must think I’m _awful,_ for acting like—like—”

“Mor,” Azriel murmured her name, loud enough and with enough weight that Morrigan paused in whatever self-deflecting rant she’d been about to kick off, waiting until she raised her eyes and met his own. “I understand. I do. I think you know – _knew_ – that I didn’t love you, not like that. Things would have progressed if it was different. You…like women? Why didn’t you ever tell us?”

Suddenly, Morrigan’s shoulders trembled, and Cassian realized she was forcing sobs down, quietly crying. When he frowned, standing to pull her into a hug, she shook her head roughly and he forced himself back down into his chair, sharing a concerned look with Azriel.

“B-Because it was hard enough, facing my father knowing I’d lost my virginity to a b-bastard Illyrian, but if he ever learned I was attracted to females, he—” She sobbed, covering her mouth, a shudder ripping through her frame. Cassian blanched and Azriel paled out of the corner of his eye. _Oh fuck – Kier would have killed her. Forget abusing her, he’d have run her through._ Reeling back from that realization, he settled more fully into his chair, letting out a slow exhalation as his mind wrapped around what she said. _Shit._

“I just want you to know,” Morrigan continued, wiping at her tears, as she looked at Azriel like her heart was breaking and her entire being was filled with shame, “that I _never_ meant to hurt you. Things just got out of hand, and I—hope you find someone one day that can love you wholly. You deserve nothing less, Azriel.”

“Maybe I have, too.” Azriel murmured, giving Morrigan a faint smile. Morrigan paused, staring at him, then burst out into more tears, but a slow messy smile began to pull at her lips.

Cassian, silently, left the room in search of Nesta as the two touched hands, murmuring softly.

* * *

 

Nesta was lost. She’d left Feyre to calm Elain, heading out to search for Cassian, when she’d somehow gotten turned around. Furious, she turned, stomping back down the long marbled all – the third she’d been down, trying to find the stairs that led to the ground level – when she suddenly stopped, feeling a hiss of shadows licking at her heels. Whirling, she stared, watching as shadows pulsed and condensed in the corner – and _Astra_ stepped out of them.

 _What in the fuck?_ Eyes bugging, Nesta could do nothing but stare, as Astra stepped forward, looked around wildly, then launched herself at Nesta. Still unused to the number of bracing hugs she’d received today, Nesta nevertheless returned it, smiling from ear to ear at seeing her friend, even if she didn’t like the dark circles under her friend’s eyes.

“Where the hell have you been?” She whispered, sensing Astra wanted to keep her visit a secret, glancing over her form. “And you can talk to shadows now? Like Azriel?”

“Yes,” was all her friend said, staring at Nesta like she was a mirage, dark eyes shimmering with worry, grief, and a deep well of gratitude. “I know what you did for me. I remember….dying. You—saved me, didn’t you? With your gift?”

Nesta went still, then finally nodded, when tears began to leak from Astra’s eyes. Astra shuddered, clamping a hand over her mouth, then hugged Nesta again. “Th-thank you,” her friend whispered weakly in her ear, making Nesta hug her all that harder. “F-for everything. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Nesta reminded her quietly, pulling back, frowning at Astra’s distraught appearance. “You’d have done the same for me. You’re my _best friend_ , Astra. Look, why don’t you join me, come see the others and—”

 _“No,”_ Astra whispered the reply so fiercely, Nesta couldn’t help but blink back, surprised at her vehemence. Her friend smiled briefly, shaking her head, glancing over Nesta’s dress. “I just—wanted to see you for a moment, alone. You look amazing. I..found something, something you should give Cassian.” Briefly something painful rippled across her face. “About Cassian, I don’t know how to say this, but…”

“You’re his sister, I know,” Nesta whispered, making Astra still, her eyes going wide. Nesta hastily went on. “I haven’t told him, or anyone. I figured it was your story to tell.”

“You tell him,” Astra pleaded, suddenly summoning something through the shadows she could now call upon, handing it to her. It was a small thin box-shaped object, covered in gauze. Nesta frowned, taking it, starting to unwrap it to see what it was, when Astra’s hand gripped hers tightly. “No, later, when you two are alone. I—tell him I found it amongst the ruins of my old home. It was in a trunk of my father’s. I – thought he would want it.”

Before she could question her further, not liking the saddened look on her friend’s face, Astra tensed, wincing and looking over her shoulder – then was gone.

“Babe?”

Nesta turned, staring at Cassian who walked up to her, all smiles over his face. So, he hadn’t seen Astra, she thought, his eyes lowering to the covered object in her hands. “What’s this?” He asked, reaching for it.

She smiled, tugging it back into her grip, shaking her head. “Another surprise. Tonight, we’ll open it then. I made a promise that’s what we’d do.”

Cassian chuckled, giving her a kiss – one that went from chaste to slowly passionate. “Ready to go?” He huskily murmured against her brow. “Everyone’s busy with their own drama. I want to take you home, make love to you.”

Nesta smiled, nodding, and felt Cassian draw her close. Just as they were about to winnow away, she leaned her head back, staring up at him. “Soon, I want you to show me how to do that. And train me further. Will you do that? Teach me to winnow and fight?”

Cassian stared at her with so much love in his eyes, her heart shattered into a million pieces. The emotion echoed back down the bond, and she returned it. Watching the ecstatic smile that broke out over his face mended it once more. “For the rest of my life, babe.”

That made her smile back.

Within moments, they were home. She tugged free of him, even as she felt him press kisses to her collar bones. Looking down at what Astra had handed her, she stilled, her lusty responses to Cassian fading at the seriousness of what she suspected was in the wrapped gauze. “Cassian…wait.”

He paused, his fingers teasing her back from where he’d started to unbutton her dress, a filament of worry flaring on his side of the bond. She turned, looking up at the concern written in his face, then drew in a shuddering breath. “Take a seat for this. I’ve got to tell you something.”

Cassian, looking very concerned now, frowned and sat on the bed, but not before he drew her into his lap, pressing a quick kiss to her shoulder. “What’s wrong? You’re worrying me, love.”

Nesta smiled faintly, glancing over at him. “I’m fine, this—this isn’t about me. It’s about Astra, and Stian. And you.”

Cassian blinked, arching an eyebrow, even as she felt his side of the bond go dark. He didn’t like to think about Stian and what he’d nearly cost them, but she noticed he let her continue. She gathered her breath and faced him fully, tapping the covered object in her grip.

“Astra and Stian were the children of Matthias Haavik, the War Chieftain of Lofoten…” She began, pausing, watching Cassian frown and nod, giving her a puzzled but amused stare. “Who….fell in love with a—” She struggled to finish the next part, forcing herself to finish when she felt Cassian go rigid underneath her. “—a low born female. Stian’s father…… _your_ father….” She whispered lowly, dropping her gaze to the object, feeling Cassian’s swift whistle of shock skirt past his lips, his muscles tense, “was an awful male, it seemed. He beat Stian, I suspect, and coveted you from afar. Stian didn’t want to end Illyria, he wanted to end _you_ , Cass. Because of what you and your mother represented to him. I don’t think I was anything more than a means to get to you. He was…damaged, Cass.”

“You’re telling me, that piece of shit that tried to rape you, was my…” Cassian laughed harshly, tensing and shaking his head, his fingers tightening around her as he glared at the wall, then looked her way, shock and fury in his gaze, “was my _half-brother?_ ”

“Yes,” she whispered, cupping his cheek, when Cassian suddenly looked aghast, horrified at what that meant. She whispered his name until his eyes, that had squeezed shut as dismay flooded his side of the bond - along with guilt and remorse and disgust – finally opened and stared at her. “You know…what that means, don’t you? About Astra?”

Suddenly, he paled. “ _Oh shit,”_ he whispered, looking stunned, as Nesta handed him the wrapped object. “She’s my…she’s my _sister_. Oh _Gods.”_

“She is,” Nesta murmured, nodding, glancing back up to him as Cassian blinked, his eyes unfocusing, no doubt reeling over that bombshell. “She gave me this. She said she found it in the ruins of her old home, it was—something her father coveted.”

Cassian looked down, staring with confusion at the object he held. With trembling fingers, he let her go, then began to unwrap it. Nesta rested her chin on his shoulder, watching as he lifted the layers of gauze away – revealing a beautiful, petite Illyrian female. She went still, her eyes going wide, as Cassian stared, then began to cry in soft, shaking sobs.

“Oh my gods, Cass, is that…?” She whispered, tugging him close.

“Its my mother,” he said in a small voice, openly crying now. “I didn’t—didn’t remember what she looked like. She was so _beautiful,_ Nesta. _Oh my Gods_ , I—” She couldn’t make out the rest, his sobs ruining his voice, and she clutched him to her, letting him cry as loud and as hard as he wanted.

“It’s okay, Cass. I have you. Now and always,” she whispered back, stroking his back, feeling his arms come tightly around her as he let go of his grief.

* * *

The mountain top was quiet, from what the others could tell. Snow drifted lazily from the sky, and they didn’t have long before the aerial patrols came by, but they’d found what they sought, so they didn’t plan to linger long.

“Of course, the bastard got greedy,” Ikalis spat, shaking his head, as the robed figure knelt down, staring at the bloodied sight of the mortal Josias’ remains. The crows had pecked out his eyes and other scavengers had begun to strip the flesh from his bones. The shadows, ever present and silent as always, said nothing, but it didn’t ease Ikalis’ fears of what the Prythian inhabitants might have gathered. “Can you tell what happened?”

“He died,” The man in shadows replied baldly, using his normal voice, earning a chuckle from those standing beside Ikalis. The silver-eyed mortal glared down at him, but he merely shrugged, staring once more at the putrid remains of their colleague. Looking at the shadows, he _commanded_ in a way they couldn’t obey, closing his eyes to _listen._

Eventually, he smiled beneath the robes he wore. So, they hadn’t gotten _too_ close. _Good._ As much of a nuisance as Josias’ lust for power had been, not much was lost. He felt, rather than saw, the others and their adgitation growing, so he stood, facing them, calling the shadows home.

“They don’t know the bigger game at play,” he commented, watching the others launch into an argument at his words. Yes, they’d lost the element of surprise, but what they _really_ wanted – what _he_ needed – was still attainable.

_The Fox and the Female._

He didn’t _need_ her, of course. He wanted her, though – like the Illyrian had wanted the Cauldron-born. It amused him, to think of the other, so like him and yet vastly inexperienced compared to what _he_ was, struggling to play on his level. Still, he could afford the distraction, and the enjoyment, of bringing her to heel. She’d already accepted part of his gift, hadn’t she? Able to now speak to shadows, like him and the boy who played at being like him?

“Let’s go back, refocus our efforts. The Fox is our main priority. Now that we know the siphon spell works, we just need to get him and kill the other. Think of the power we’ll have….” Ikalis interrupted, making the others pause, stop arguing, and hastily nod in agreement.

 _Yes, lets do that,_ he thought in amusement, casting them all into shadow and leaving the forest floor bare, even Josias’s remains no longer lingering, as if they had never been there.

* * *

_The story of the Alchemists will continue in my next story, ‘ **Shadows & Scars,’** coming soon. (Astra & Azriel’s story)._

_Please feel free to subscribe to my **‘A Court of Wishes and Dreams’** universe series, found [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1162292) I will be posting further one-shots of my past pairings there! (Nessian lovers? There will be more!)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for loving this story and giving me the encouragement to continue with this series! I love you all!


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